Freedom and Justice
by Dunas Priest
Summary: Lord Cutler Beckett never found freedom to be quite as delicious as power and control. The feeling of knowing that others would do your bidding was intoxicating, he thought. And yet there's something intriguing about being free... and not being alone.
1. Criminal

A/N: Oh, here we go. I'm a little nervous, to be honest. I've read a great many Beckett fan-fictions around here to get a feel of what people are looking for, and I have to say that many of them have done a very excellent job (Amymimi, SensiblyScrewy, auri mynonys, letthedreamdescend, and illogical squeaks). I've been horrible inspired by them, and I've no other choice but to satiate my desire by writing something of my own. My only hope is to amuse. If you would like to instill me with feelings of great gratitude, then please review. Or, at the very least, carry your way on through this entire piece of work. I promise it won't hurt. Much. (;

Now, in this story, we're to pretend that William Turner was _not_ made captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, that, all logics aside, the _Dutchman_ sank bank into the sea without claiming another life. Jack Sparrow and Elizabeth _Turner_ (hah!) managed to escape from the _Dutchman_ in time as it sank, only to realize that the EITC and its fleet were still in wait.

I'm not very good at summarizing things and making them seem exciting, are I? x_x

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: None.

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Criminal.**

Elizabeth woke up uncomfortable and stiff. Her whole body ached and groaned as she sat up, her mind dulled with a low buzz in her head. For a moment, she merely stared around dumbly. Then realization hit her as she realized just where, exactly, she was.

She was in the HMS _Endeavour_'s brig, no less. A sinking feeling filled her chest. They'd lost, she realized. And it was pathetic. So much effort spent taking down the _Flying Dutchman_—only to turn and see the huge East India Trading Company armada lying in wait. They'd been forced to run—all the Pirate Lords, all the ships. Turned back and started to run. But with the _Black Pearl_ so close in proximity to the EITC fleet, of course it was the first to be captured.

A boiling rage filled her. She remembered the smug look of Cutler Beckett as the EITC claimed the _Pearl_. _"The fastest ship on the seas, hm?"_ he'd said, "_Apparently, it's not quite fast enough."_ She could just see the delight in his eyes as she had been led down below, chained and shackled like a mangy pirate.

Oh—wait. She _was_ a mangy pirate, she realized. No, no, not a _mangy_ pirate. God damn it, she was the Pirate King! And her first accomplishment? Getting a huge load of pirate ships destroyed, and getting the crew of the _Pearl_ captured—or killed.

They were going to execute her, she realized. A bone-chilling sensation coursed through her. Never before had Elizabeth really thought much of dying, herself. Someone had always come to save her, be it Jack or Will.

_Will_. The name pierced her heart and forced her to curl up into a ball. Already, she felt her eyes watering, but she begged herself not to cry. No. She wouldn't let Beckett see her ruined like this.

She looked about, and got herself to her feet, dusting off the dirt and grime on her outfit; although, at this point, hygiene no longer mattered. Grasping the bars of her cell, she looked left and right, observing the hallway. The brig was large, particularly compared to the _Pearl_'s. Then again, an EITC ship _had_ to be well-equipped for capturing pirates. _And innocents_, Elizabeth thought to herself scathingly.

Few soldiers were stationed in the hallway, but there would be no escaping. Escaping from the brig meant getting up on deck, where there were more than likely more soldiers than down below. She pursed her lips and looked to her left, at the next cell.

Unfortunately, a wooden wall met her gaze. She narrowed her eyes. So there was no secretive interaction between the prisoners. Oh well, then. Surely there was no harm in speaking out loud to see if anyone else was there.

"Hello?" she said, her voice quavering nervously a slight. She felt stupid, suddenly, and she didn't like it.

There was a long pause before any reply answered her, and it was Mr. Gibbs. "Aye, Ms. Swa—_Turner_, ye be alright. I'd been gettin' worried."

Just as her mouth opened to answer, she heard footsteps approaching. Her eyes widened as she saw the black boots descend down the stairs. A rather short figure, though with an ego and ambition that far outsized it. Black clothes (was he making fun of the pirates' deaths, she wondered?), a white wig, and a tricorn hat. And that same slight half-smirk that made Elizabeth's gut wrench with rage.

"Cutler Beckett," she hissed with a venomous, seething tone. Her anger could not be any more plain.

Beckett's brows lifted just a slight. Elizabeth held back a nasty curse. She hated how the man's expressions were always so—_same_. No matter how heavily you attacked him, you could not instill change in his face. Always that same expression, and she hated it.

"I believe I told you it was _Lord_ Beckett," he said calmly, but with a slight sneer in his voice.

Elizabeth stalked up to the bars of the brig cage and clenched hands in fists around them, pressing her face as far out as she could. Her eyes narrowed. "I'm still going to follow through on my promise of your death."

The corners of his lip lifted the slightest, indicating some sort of falsified smile. "Will you?" he said haughtily, an amused look filling his eyes.

"Yes, I will. And I'll see to it that you fall at my own hands," Elizabeth hissed. "I will avenge my father's death, you cold, heartless _bastard_."

Beckett looked amused yet again. "You humor me, Ms. Swann," he said. "But I'm afraid you've absolutely no chance at all in following through with your words. As I'm sure you can clearly surmise, the only one here with any sort of weaponry or capability to kill would be _me_. And the chances of me falling at my own hands—well, to say in the _least_, they're quite bleak."

For a moment, she merely stared, and just as she was about to rage again, she calmed herself. She would not feed Beckett his amusement by going off again. Her anger was only feeding him, she realized.

Seeing that Elizabeth had ceased speaking, Beckett merely turned a slight away from her and began speaking. "I don't recall ever telling you why I even came down here."

She narrowed her eyes, and then said in a low, barely controlled voice, "Well, then. Why are you down here, _Lord_ Beckett?"

Beckett smiled, but Elizabeth could not see the dastardly expression. "I would like to remind you of the charges you were faced with on the day of your wedding. 'Conspiring to set free'—"

"—'A man convicted of crimes against the Crown, and condemned to death'." Elizabeth said, narrowing her eyes. She wished she could see his face, but he was still turned away. Why was he reminding her of this, she wondered? She already knew she was going to die. She was a pirate now.

"...For which the punishment, regrettably, is _also_ death," completed Beckett almost triumphantly as he turned and face her, putting one hand on his side. There was something pompous about him at this moment, with that smirk playing his face and his whole being exuding power.

"Why are you reminding me this? I would suppose that those charges have been long extended, considering my position as the Pirate King and the deeds which I have committed against the Crown, namely piracy, in and of itself," Elizabeth said breathlessly, confused and indignant.

Another smirk. God, Elizabeth would have done anything to strangle the little lord. But these bars were like a world between them—a huge stretch of power and dominance and, God damn it, _intellect_, as much as she hated to admit it.

"I merely wished to show you just how much you've grown, Ms. Swann. It was not long ago that you were little more than a mere girl, upset over the lost dream of a wedding." Beckett began adjusting the button of one of his sleeve cuffs, as if he found it far more interesting than Elizabeth's life. "You've changed quite a lot, if I don't say so myself."

"First of all," Elizabeth seethed, "it's Ms. _Turner_." Beckett almost looked surprised, but he covered up whatever astonishment he might have had with disinterest. "And secondly..."

Beckett swiftly cut her off, seemingly having gained whatever composure he'd lost at Elizabeth's earlier remark. "I find it quite ironic that you so strongly defend your position as Ms. _Turner_. You are, after all, now a widow, though a young one still."

Though none of the words were particularly offending, each one cut into Elizabeth's heart like a knife. (Perhaps the name _Cutler_ was quite appropriate.) Although she tried to hide it, the hurt was impossible to conceal, and she could see Beckett relishing in her reaction. He paused for a bit before continuing again, but Elizabeth wanted to beg him to stop. She felt her eyes sting again as the tears began to form, but she willed them away. No, she would _not_ give Cutler Beckett the delight of seeing her sob.

"Regardless of your widowhood, Ms. _Turner_, justice must be dispensed. We will return to Port Royal immediately, and I will see to it that you and your pirate friends hang from the gallows," he said rather calmly.

Elizabeth swallowed heavily as she stared at the floor in front of her, then back at Beckett. She found his stare to be piercing, though, and quickly looked away. Gathering her voice and wits, she said, "Where is Jack?"

Beckett went back to adjusting his frock coat button again. "Jack Sparrow is not present," he responded enigmatically.

"I could tell," Elizabeth snapped, upset at his answer. "Where exactly is he? I want to see him!"

Lord Beckett looked up and gazed at Elizabeth, and then a smile tugged at his lips. Suddenly, she felt as though she had said too much—had she accidentally hinted at an affair between her and...? No! It was impossible. Besides, she had just said she was keen on defending her relationship with Will. There was no way that Beckett would think she had any kind of relationship with Jack. (Then again, Beckett seemed to know Jack... and that he was a shameless pervert.)

"Really," he said dryly. "I'm afraid that can't be done. You will be confined within this brig until we make home at Port Royal. Then, you will be moved into a far more uncomfortable prison cell, where you will spend the rest of your time contemplating your sins against justice, and hope that God has mercy upon you."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "You don't understand the meaning of the word 'justice.' You've twisted it far beyond recognition," she snarled.

Beckett smiled just a slight, with a slight _hmph_ escaping his lips. "Is that what you think?" he said lightly, and then quickly waved off whatever answer she was preparing to give. "Your opinions are irrelevant. You are a heathen pirate, an enemy to society, peace, safety, and good-will. As an enemy of the people, your slanderous and twisted beliefs have no value in face of your crimes."

"I am free," said Elizabeth haughtily, lifting up her chin to feel more superior. "That's what I am."

Beckett turned away from her again and stared at the wall. "Freedom," he snorted under his breath. He remembered the days when he used to crave freedom. Now he knew; such petty desires had to be repressed. That was what he'd learned. The taste of freedom was nothing compared to the taste of power and control, Beckett thought. The feeling of knowing that others bowed to your very beck and call—_that_ was far more intoxicating than any foolish freedom. And anyway, with freedom came danger, and with danger came fear, and fear was strong enough to fell any man. Even Cutler Beckett.

But those days were long over. His head turned just the slightest so that Elizabeth could see part of his face. He was no longer smiling, but even that did not relieve her. "You are a criminal. A fugitive of justice," he said softly, "and you will be hanged."

And with that delightful remark, Lord Cutler Beckett left.

* * *

A/N: Phew! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. (I know I didn't.) Hah! Anyway, yeah. Reviews are implored! Reviews are very much welcome! Please do drop one, even if it's just a few words. I also love criticism, as long as it isn't blatant flaming. I'm very worried about my characterization—are they all in character? That's my biggest concern, to be honest. Beckett has so few scenes in the movies, and what you do see of him is all the same face (except for the few moments where Jack manages to throw off his cool composure), so it's really hard to base the lines off of him. I'm not sure about Elizabeth, either. Really, characterization is so tricky in _Pirates_. What really helps, to me, is if you just imagine that character saying the line. Unless the dialogue is something so absurd that the character would never say it.

So, yeah. Elizabeth/Beckett is my crack. Seriously, I... don't even know why I like it I suppose I think they are a good match. Both intellectuals, both cunning, except that one is far colder and the other is burning with fiery passion and _love_. (Beckett is _so definitely_ the fiery one.)

Anyway. I hope Barbossa and Jack can have a chance to appear soon. Most people say Jack is quite hard to get across, but Jack actually isn't that hard at all. Seriously—just imagine him reading the line, and suddenly it's just golden. It's perfect! Your inner Johnny Depp will characterize it for you. (At least, that's what my inner Johnny Depp does. Wait a second, why do I even have an inner Johnny Depp? I want an inner Tom Hollander to help me with my Beckett stuff!) Jack actually has very versatile dialogue. He can use words from "jar of dirt" to "cuttlefish"! Now _Barbossa_, I find him far more difficult. There's something about his manner of speaking that I find hard to capture.

But I've rambled long enough. I hope you enjoyed this, honestly. Please review!

Expect the next chapter ... well, if I get a lot of reviews, it'll be soon. If I don't, I probably will be too demotivated to continue. XD


	2. Vow

A/N: Well, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Thanks very much to the reviewers: **g**,** SunAndMoon16, **and **ninjalover13.** I will brave on!

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: None.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Vow.**

Lord Beckett was almost too pleased with himself. In just one, swift, decisive strike, he had captured three Pirate "Lords", felled some thirty pirate ships, and had sent the rest of the pests running—err, sailing for their lives. He snorted softly as he stirred a sugar cube into his tea. He resisted the urge to smirk—victory was not _quite_ in his grasp yet. Six of the Pirate Lords still remained, although with his three hostages, Beckett figured the others would be quick to perish. Then it was just a matter of eliminating the rest of those pathetic pirates. One less obstacle on his ocean, he figured.

Barbossa, thought Beckett, was completely untrustworthy in every dimension of the word. Anything the man said was likely to be lies, or twisted in his favor. Even Sparrow was weary of Barbossa. And that was more than enough for Beckett to know that he wasn't to be trusted. So he'd be the last one to consult as to the pirates' locations.

Sparrow, Beckett thought, was—well, God damn it, he was _Sparrow_. He'd be hanged as soon as possible. No—wait. That was _too_ easy. Ten lashes from the cat o' nine tails. No, that wasn't nearly enough. Thirty lashes. No, too barbaric. Sparrow had to survive through the lashing in order to be hanged. Beckett frowned. He'd have to think of something to do with that filthy pirate.

And then there was Swann. Or, rather, _Turner_, thought Beckett humorously. She seemed to be the easiest one to persuade of the three, but how? How would he get her to tell him of the Pirate Lords? For a moment, he sat there contemplating, and then it came to him. He'd spare Sparrow, and use the smelly scallywag as leverage against Ms. Turner. Yes. It was perfect—from the way Ms. Turner had so badly wanted to see Sparrow, it was obvious that there had to at least be _some_ kind of affair between them. And besides—Jack's lack of self-control considered? They probably had already...

Just as Beckett began taking another ship from his teacup, there was a rapid knock at his office door. Sighing, he put the cup back down onto its saucer, and was about to motion Mr. Mercer to get the door, when he then remembered that there _was_ no Mercer to get the door. Beckett pursed his lips. "Come in," he said loudly, and the doors opened.

A worried officer rushed in. "Lord Beckett," he breathed, "the prisoner is _begging_ to see you. He—she's starving herself, sir. She refuses to eat or drink without your audience."

Becket paused, and then smirked. "Just begging for attention, isn't she? How petty," he muttered to himself as he picked up his teacup again. "Unfortunately, our little prisoner is just going to have to be hungry for a bit longer, then. Inform Ms. Turner that I have considered her request, but I am disinclined to acquiesce to her terms. She'll eat eventually, once she realizes just how pathetic her qualms are."

The officer nodded quickly. "Yes, sir." There was a pause as he seemed to think. And then the soldier continued. "And...what of Sparrow, sir? Where shall we put him for the time being?"

"I would like him to be transferred to the HMS _Obstinance_," said Beckett curtly. "He is to be guarded and patrolled heavily, particularly once we dock at Port Royal. Keep him under tight security. Under _no_ circumstances must he be taken lightly." Beckett hesitated a slight before adding, "And make sure he stays out of sight from Ms. Turner."

The officer nodded again, taking that to note. He then was about to turn and leave, when he suddenly remembered the _third_ Pirate Lord. "And... Barbossa?"

Beckett's lip curled. "Move him back to the brig by Ms. Turner. I'm sure she would appreciate the company."

Another pause. "...Yes, sir," said the soldier. He quickly half-saluted, half-bowed, and made his exit, shutting the door behind him swiftly.

Beckett gazed at the closed door for a spell, before looking back to the papers on his desk. It was almost done, he thought to himself lightly as he straightened out the stack of papers and put them aside. Just a brief stop at Port Royal, and then they would embark again to capture (or terminate with extreme prejudice) the rest of the Pirate Lords.

Originally, Lord Beckett had not planned to attend this journey, himself. But then again, he trusted no one but himself with this sort of dire mission. Besides, he was so close to ridding the sea of piracy once-and-for-all. And who else could persuade Ms. Turner to tell the whereabouts and identities of the Pirate Lords? No one was nearly as good with persuasion as Cutler Beckett.

_Tell them what they want to hear_, he thought to himself, _and they'll do anything for you, if only to hear more. Offer what they want most... and they will bow down to your every word. All men have a price they will always accept... even for that which they hope to never sell._

_

* * *

_

"Well, Ms. Turner, I must be sayin' that this be a most unfortunate turn o' events," Barbossa half-growled, half-chuckled.

Elizabeth was too starved to respond to or even contemplate the old captain's words. She curled up into a ball with her hands on her knees and stared out at the wall. The smell of the platter of food wafted into her nostrils and sent her glands salivating. She wanted to eat so badly. But no. She had to wait. She was going to see Lord Beckett, no matter how pathetic he thought her qualms were. She would ensure her freedom—and Jack's. Maybe even Barbossa's and the crew's.

"Have you seen Jack anywhere?" She said quickly, trying to overcome and distract her monstrous hunger.

"Nay. I not be seein' the lecherous bastard anywhere," Barbossa responded. "And they took me Jack."

"Well, I could surmise that," Elizabeth huffed, jarred as to why Barbossa said _"me Jack"_. "I think that's a bit redundant. And obvious."

"Nay. I be meanin' me monkey, Jack," Barbossa shot back in his usual drawl.

Elizabeth sighed. "And God knows you can't survive without your damn immortal monkey," she muttered under her breath. Adding more loudly, she said, "Do you know where they might be keeping him?"

"...That be a 'no.' Beckett was bein' rather quiet on the subject o' Jack," Barbossa answered almost delightfully. "But considerin' how much he hates 'im, it not be too far-fetched to assume that Jack be long dead."

Elizabeth's heart thudded, skipping a beat. "No!" she exclaimed, and then shied, adding more quietly, "That can't be true. Beckett...Beckett needs him. Jack's one of the Pirate Lords. He has valuable information pertaining to the Brethren Court. It'd... it'd be a waste to kill him." Her words were hesitant, but she put as much strength as she could in them. She had already lost Will. She was not going to lose Jack. "Yes, I suppose that the Lord Beckett does indeed hold a grudge against Jack. But Beckett isn't so rash to act upon anger alone."

Barbossa chuckled. "Cutler Beckett be a most ruthless man, Mr. Turner. Anything that be gettin' in his way be gettin' destroyed. I doubt Jack be lastin' long in Beckett's care."

She bit her lip and gazed at the floor. "That can't be true. I'm going to see Beckett, myself. And... change his mind." Ever since she had become the Pirate King, she was so used to being in some level of control, whether it be through her authority or through her charm. But a man like Beckett was mastered by neither, and so she would have to think of another way to get him to do her bidding.

Barbossa laughed sardonically. "Best o' luck be to ye. An' don't say I didn't warn ya." With that, the captain settled against the wall of his own cell and became silent.

Elizabeth flushed with irritation. Everyone spoke of Beckett like he was some kind of fearsome force to be reckoned with. Yet when she looked upon him, all she could see was a very short British man with a huge ego and a powdered white wig. He was no different from the rest of those aristocrats—greedy, controlling, and ambitious.

Well, perhaps he was a bit more evil than the rest of them. But all he really wanted was money and power. He wasn't eliminating piracy for the sake of justice. God damn it, it was a transparent cover for his greed, and he knew it. He didn't care about freedom and justice, or any of those other insipid concepts. As far as Beckett was concerned, the "romantic era of piracy" must come to a close, as it got in the way of commerce, and commerce meant riches and progression. For him, at least.

Perhaps Elizabeth might have thought the same way as the aristocrats, were it not for those... pirates. In a way, the pirates had both ruined and liberated her. They had shown her a life outside of propriety and petticoats. True, it had been Will who had initially brought her to the pirates' world. But it was Jack and the crew and the _Pearl_ that had kept her a prisoner of freedom.

But yet, despite all that, Elizabeth found herself addicted to the feeling of freedom. Once she had sampled the delectability of it, she had never wanted to let it go. No more were the days of suffocating corsets and proper manners and ceremony and humbleness. Every part of her wanted to feel the salty spray of the open ocean, the chilling breeze that pushed her sails, the rock of the ship as the waves swayed it.

But Beckett had taken all these things away from her.

Elizabeth vowed she would get everything back. Her freedom, the _Black Pearl_, the crew, Jack. Everything.

And Beckett would die. Just as she had promised.

* * *

A/N: Short chapter. I know. I just wanted to get an update out there, and I want the next chapter to be as saturated as possible. As before, please review! And please tell me if there are any problems, especially with the characters being in-character. Thank you for your time. Expect the next chapter... soon-ish?


	3. Bargain

A/N: Although I haven't been getting the most massively massive amount of reviews, I'm still happy that I've got some. Thanks to **SunAndMoon16**, **ninjalover13**, and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett** once again for the reviews. Your reviews are what keep me going!

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: None. Just the usual slight swearing.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Bargain.**

"Land ho!" came the cry from the crow's nest. A joyful cry which meant that Port Royal had _finally_ been reached. After weeks of traveling at sea, Lord Beckett had to admit that he was starting to get tired of the _Endeavour_, beautiful as she was. And the lack of a personal attendant (like Mercer) was simply depressing. He didn't trust (nor like) any of the guards enough to let them hang about in his office while he did his leisurely work. He would have to get another right-hand man, which was a little annoying. There really was no other man like Mercer—no one nearly as cold-blooded and willing to kill, yet so damn good at it. And quite a good clerk, too, if not for the questionable sense of moral. But to be honest, Beckett preferred the lack of black-and-white moral on Mercer's part. He didn't need some pompous, religious idiot whispering into his ears about the repercussions of his sins, especially during that mass hanging. Besides, suspension of basic human rights was necessary in emergencies. And an emergency it had been. It had been for pirates, for God's sake—a bunch of plunderers, rapists, thieves, and smelly scallywags who ought to take a few more baths.

At least, that was how Beckett viewed the matter. But that wasn't really relevant—they had _finally_ reached land. He got up from his seat and found his legs wobbling just a tad, but he hid it well (although there was no one in the room to impress) as he maneuvered out from his desk and grabbed his cane. Walking over to the doors, he flung them open and headed out through the hallway, up the stairs to the deck.

A light breeze caressed his face as he stepped into the open air. The salty smell of the ocean filled his nostrils—but mingled with the familiar scent of commerce and business from Port Royal (a fragrance he much liked). The EITC sailors around him were beginning to pack up the _Endeavour_, putting everything into a proper place. The ship would have to be repaired, fixed, and fine-tuned before the next voyage, considering all the wear and tear she had been through.

"Sir!" said the soldier who had entered his office before as he came running up to Beckett with a quick salute. "What shall we do with the prisoners, sir?"

Beckett looked about a bit. "Properly shackle them and bring them off the ship with us. Keep them imprisoned. And do not forget my instructions in terms of Sparrow. Although… I would like to take personal custody of Ms. Swann."

The soldier did not question this order, odd as it seemed. Nobody questions the Lord Beckett. "Yes, sir," he said and ran off to relay the word.

* * *

"Alright, Ms. Swann; you're coming with us," said the soldiers as they walked up to Elizabeth's cell. She was the last one in the brig, and it had been quiet for a while after Barbossa had left.

She looked up at them, still curled into fetal position, her stomach still roaring with hunger. She gathered her ebbing strength and managed to snap back, "I believe I told you it was Ms. _Turner_."

The soldiers ignored her comment and dragged her out from the cell, shackling her wrists. She was tired of being thrown around like some kind of rag doll. And she was tired of losing people. Her father. James. Will. Each memory hit her heart like a shard of a broken glass mirror, and she had to hold back choked sobs. She was not going to lose Jack. And—she wouldn't lose herself, either.

They hauled her up the stairs. Emerging onto the deck, she found herself face-to-face with the one man she had always wished to see …dead. Narrowing her eyes, she avoided the urge to spit at Cutler Beckett. Instead, she merely said, "And what do you have planned for me, _Lord_ Beckett?"

There was a pause as Beckett seemed intrigued in the button of his frock coat again. Elizabeth was perturbed. Did he always find it necessary to belittle her by finding his clothing more interesting than her words? He glanced up at her and said in his usual haughty tone, "Patience is a virtue. You'll find out what is in store for you soon enough, Ms. Swann."

"Turner," Elizabeth spat. The blob of spit hit Beckett's boot.

He stared at the ugly blemish with a nonchalant expression, but Elizabeth could see the curdling disgust in his eyes. Beckett looked back up at her. "You've caught onto the pirates' unsanitary habits, I see." The way he said _pirates_ was similar to the way one would say _rat_.

She gazed back at him with a hard stare. He looked bemused. Fine, then. This time he wouldn't be able to kindle explosive reactions from her. _Clever girl,_ Beckett thought to himself lightly. She was not nearly as stupid as she seemed. She had the basic human capability of learning from one's own past mistakes.

Beckett turned to a nearby soldier. "Please see to it that Ms. _Turner_ here is properly bathed and clothed by supper. I would hate for her to muck up the household with her grime." With that brief comment, he turned and walked off the _Endeavour_.

Elizabeth blinked and turned to the soldier. "Household?" she said incredulously. "Where am I being taken? Not a prison?"

The soldier glanced at her. "The Lord Beckett gave orders for you to be taken into his personal custody."

She blinked once again, confused. What did he have planned for her? As she mulled it over, walking off the _Endeavour_, her heart skipped a beat. Surely he was not planning to do _that_….

* * *

Her trousers, hat, and waistcoat sat in a dirty heap in the corner of the bedroom. The massive Beckett household was quite alluring, yet each and every immaculate corner reminded her of its owner, and she couldn't help but feel slightly repelled. She wondered, briefly, whose bedroom this was. A guest bedroom, most likely, but it showed signs of recent usage. She hoped that the person who had used it was still… well, alive. Beckett considered, of course.

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought herself the same, clean, beautiful, rich governor's daughter she had always been. A bath had cleansed her of every smidgen of dirt upon her filthy bodice, and she thought with dismay that Beckett had been right: she was grimy and would have mucked up the beautiful home.

She ran her fingers over the smooth silk of the skirt. She wondered whose dress this was, as well. Surely there wasn't a Lady Beckett, was there?

A small smile played her lips. Just the thought of a Lady Beckett made her grin. Of what she had seen of Cutler, he seemed heartless and completely incapable of the passionate, honest force of love. Any Lady Beckett would surely be a most miserable one.

She was still gazing at her own reflection when a knock sounded from the door. "Ms… Turner?" said a hesitant maid's voice, "The Lord Beckett would like an update on your status."

Elizabeth paused and turned to the door. She swiftly walked over to it and opened it. "I'm ready," she said haughtily. The maid nodded and began to lead her through the hallways of the household. As she walked, she quickly began to remind herself of the basic etiquette that she had so brashly abandoned over the years of spending time with Jack and the crew.

They ended up in front of a pair of very pristine French doors. Like everything else in the Beckett household, they were perfect and gave off even more of that same stale, rich air. The maid opened up the door for Elizabeth, and she walked inside, looking left and right.

The dining room was spacious and grand—just like everything else in this damn house. A crystal chandelier hung from the painted, ornate ceiling, and a long, wooden dining table sat in the middle, atop a deep green rug. A vast assortment of food sat upon the table, and at the head of it sat Cutler Beckett. Elizabeth made sure to take note that she and he were the only people in the room.

She tilted her chin up, although she knew it was redundant—Beckett was such a short man, anyway! She carried herself with a self-absorbed air as she sat herself quietly at a seat that was neither far nor close to the Lord.

"You needn't try so hard," he drawled as he regarded her with his icy, stony-blue eyes. "You and I both know your nature."

For some reason, Elizabeth was temporarily reminded of her dinner with Barbossa, back when he was the skeletal—yet immortal—captain of the _Black Pearl_. _"There's no need to stand on ceremony, nor call to impress anyone. You must be hungry,"_ he had said as he'd watched her eat daintily. And then she had dug in ravenously. She remembered the sort of relish Barbossa had derived from that experience, and she hated it. She was not going to grant Beckett that same liberty. Granted, she did indeed have an audience with him now; the self-starving vow was unnecessary. But she did not want to humor the Lord.

Yet still Beckett stared. Observing her. Probing her with his eyes. Around him, she always felt as though she was being watched closely, her every mannerism being dissected and scrutinized. And she hated it. Oh, she hated it. Her stomach hissed, snapped, growled, screamed. Her salivary glands generated an enormous amount of spit. Her hand slowly moved for the bread roll.

Beckett watched.

Elizabeth froze. She glanced at him. The tense atmosphere was suffocating, she thought to herself frustratingly. Finally, she succumbed to her hunger and grabbed the damn bread roll, stuffing it into her mouth, ignoring any etiquette as she chewed ravenously, her mouth not even closed, showing the nasty mush upon her tongue.

Beckett smiled.

She snatched the wine glass and did not even bother to daintily tilt it, instead practically turning it on its side, dumping the contents into her mouth. She swallowed with a loud _gulp_ and grabbed her fork, snatching up a slice of ham and stuffing it whole into her mouth. She hardly even chewed it, either, and then down her gullet it went. It was so _delicious_. For the past few months, all she had eaten were things that the _Pearl_ had cooked up—and it was gross. This was the feast that she had grown up with. And it was delectable, mouth-watering, delicious, perfect—

"Please do slow down, Ms. Turner. It is extremely unhealthful to eat so hastily after such a long period of starvation," Beckett said smoothly. Yet there was no sincere concern in his words—merely bemusement. He took a slice of ham, himself, and began neatly cutting it with a knife, placing the small piece into his mouth and chewing slightly.

Elizabeth glared at him. "I am enjoying this meal while I still can," she snapped, "as I am not so stupid to believe that this is the same treatment I will be receiving for long."

"That you are correct," Beckett responded. "Within a fortnight's time, I hope to set sail again with the _Endeavour_ and her fleet. You will accompany." It was a command, not an imploration.

"For what purpose?" Elizabeth inquired incredulously. "The war is practically won. You yourself need not attend to the scuffles personally. You have the Pirate King here in the flesh. You have the Lords of the Caspian and Caribbean Seas. And why would I come along?"

Beckett gazed at her and said softly, "And who is to supply information of the Pirate Lords' whereabouts?"

Then Elizabeth understood. Everything seemed to click. He needed her, she realized. But not only her. There was also Jack and Barbossa—and that meant she was actually quite disposable. She was playing a dangerous game, and she would have to win it. Because that was the only option.

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "So you plan for me to go only because of the information I hold. Why, then, should I not just tell you now, and _not_ accompany you on the voyage?"

"Because then you become completely untrustworthy," Beckett responded in a clipped tone. "If you are not on the ship, then there is no way for me to immediately reprimand you should your words be absent of truth. It is simply only logical to bring you along."

Elizabeth nodded. Sound logic. "So then both of us are to go on this voyage," she said softly. "And what will become of the crew of the _Pearl_? Jack? Barbossa? Pintel and Ragetti?" Although they were nothing but rotten pirates, she felt a smidgen of concern for them. Well, Jack especially. And Barbossa had wed her and Will (short-termed as that may have been). She would not abandon even the monkey-obsessed captain.

Beckett paused. "And what interest are they to you?" he asked silkily, gazing at Elizabeth, awaiting her answer.

She flushed a bit, realizing that she had spoken too much. Beckett was going to pick out every single one of her weaknesses and relationships, she realized. She had already doomed Jack, she thought to herself with dismay. And now she'd doomed Barbossa and the crew.

Beckett smirked. "Jack Sparrow faces the hangman's noose and little more. You needn't worry about him."

Her heart skipped a beat. No, no. Not another loss. "No!" she shouted, and then flushed even deeper as Beckett's brows lifted at her brief, yet apparent outburst. "No," she added more quietly in a somewhat-controlled manner. "Surely Jack serves a purpose to you. He's certainly been in the Brethren Court for much longer than me. And—and—he's very valuable as leverage to them. Very valuable." She paused, and then blurted, "More than me."

Beckett looked intrigued. Taking a brief sip of wine, he said, "Oh? And how so?"

Elizabeth chewed her lip. She was killing herself, she realized. But Jack had saved her life so many times. She had to pay him back. She had to. "The… Captain Teague," she said quickly. "Captain Teague is… Jack's father," she added. She wasn't even sure if it was true, but from the way she had seen Jack react, she knew there had to be something like that between them.

"Captain Teague," Beckett repeated slowly. But the name was just a name. Nothing of value to him. There was nothing attached to it, nothing to make it meaningful. Nothing to draw a face onto the puppet.

"He's the Keeper of the Code. The Pirate Codex," Elizabeth said quickly, just spouting out information now. "He… is extremely prominent in the Brethren Court. Very. If you have Jack, then you have a very good leverage tool against the Court. They will have no choice but to comply."

Beckett snorted softly with a small smile. "You judge them wrongly, Ms. Turner," he said quietly, but darkly. "They are naught but a bunch of selfish, squabbling pirates. They would sooner save their own skin than even deign to turn themselves over for the sake of Jack Sparrow, '_prominent_' as he may be."

Elizabeth gnawed at her tongue incessantly. "Well," she said, and then stopped talking. She thought her situation over. Ideas tumbled through her head, and she struggled to twist and turn them into something coherent. Finally, she spoke again. "I…would like to strike a bargain with you, Lord Beckett."

"Would you?" Beckett asked with a slight cock of one brow. Now _this_ was an interesting development. He had so clearly caught Ms. Turner up—in a lie, no less! Of course he wasn't planning on killing Sparrow; he'd have no leverage on her! But letting out that kind of detail turned to be very useful—after all, she had just spouted her guts out on essential information on the Brethren Court. _Rather gullible_, Beckett noted to himself on the subject of Elizabeth Turner.

Elizabeth nodded just a slight. She was aware that she had already just dug her own grave, but she no longer cared. "I, personally, will give you heading to each of the Pirate Lords' locations. Once we have completed the journey, however, you will release me, as well as Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, and the rest of the _Black Pearl_'s crew. And we will have the _Pearl_. And you will not chase us. Or try to imprison us."

Beckett studied Elizabeth with his watchful eyes. It was not, by any means, a particularly _bad_ bargain, but it was not very skillful, either. He surmised that she was honest, and there was no ulterior motive on her part. She looked so desperate, anyways. He hesitated a bit, and then said, "Deal. We have ourselves a bargain, Ms. Turner."

Elizabeth grimaced.

* * *

A/N: Phew. Now things are starting to pick up a bit! I hope everyone is still in-character. XD; Thank you so much to all the reviewers! Though the amount is a little meager, it's enough to brighten my day.


	4. Read

A/N: Wow! I'm so glad to have you guys review. Really, each one just brightens up my day. So huge special thanks to my dedicated reviewers (and readers): **g**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, **SunAndMoon16**, and **ninjalover13**. (: Things have been a little slow, but it should pick up... soon? I'm not quite sure.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs. (There will actually be one this chapter!)

Warnings: None. Just the usual slight swearing. And a little innuendo, maybe. But nothing really. (;

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Read.**

Elizabeth was aware that she was being watched, and she hated it.

She had had to bargain for her "freedom." Again. Lord Beckett had, of course, insisted upon her staying in the household rather adamantly. Obviously, he didn't trust her to go into town—she'd try to escape. And it was wise logic. Elizabeth _would_ try to escape. In fact, that's what she was trying right now, as she stood on the street of Port Royal, trying to inconspicuous as she fanned herself lightly.

One of Beckett's men hung around, watching her. Her skin pricked with anticipation. The deal had been this—she'd be let free only within Port Royal, but she would be constantly followed. And she would not object. And she had to call herself Elizabeth Swann. As far as they were concerned, everyone thought that William Turner was just another pirate vagabond. _A dead pirate vagabond_, Elizabeth thought to herself bitterly, _and therefore not to be the husband of the daughter of a dead governor._

Fine, then. Those terms were fine. Well, Elizabeth would just have to come up with something clever. She did not trust Beckett to keep up his end of the bargain. I mean, who would trust a man who had so blatantly broke his vow with Jack for—for what? It was just good business? Elizabeth scoffed. No, Beckett was not to be trusted. She would get her freedom herself. She would not rely on him to grant her it. And she would kill him. Eventually.

Snorting softly, Elizabeth looked around the town. Nobody paid her any mind. Beckett must have tried to clear up her name. All a misunderstanding, he must have said. Elizabeth Swann was no more a criminal than your resident chicken thief. Well, Beckett had power, and he had quite the mastery over words. He could probably convince anyone of _anything_ if he so wanted it.

And that was when Elizabeth heard the familiar sound of clopping horse hooves. A carriage. Suddenly, her lips curled into a smile. She had an idea.

* * *

"_The Lord Beckett has summoned you,"_ the messenger had said in an alert tone. What, he could be _summoned_ now? What was he, some sort of mongrel pup?

Derrick Parker didn't like Cutler Beckett. The British lord, he thought, was just another high-class, stuck-up snob who probably took lavish baths and drank expensive wine and liquor. And Derrick Parker _hated_ those aristocratic snobs with their high-class accents and their foofy cravats and their powdered white wigs and their streamy frock coats. Or so he said.

Then again, Derrick Parker was hardly a poor man, himself. Through years of servitude to the East India Trading Company, he had been awarded payment after payment after payment for a job well done. And what hefty payments they'd been!

But of course, now he had a sort of debt to the Lord Beckett for such gracious rewards. And he did not like to keep debts. Derrick snorted. He was being _summoned_ now, _oooooh_. And what, he wondered, did the Lord Beckett want with him? _Hopefully not to polish his shiny black boots,_ Derrick thought to himself glumly as his carriage careened through the streets of Port Royal, towards the grandeur Beckett estate.

And then, he suddenly felt the cold steel of a knife pressed against his throat. Freezing, he heard somebody whisper into his ear, "Don't move."

* * *

Elizabeth gazed at the man before her, her small, but sharp steak knife (she had pilfered it from the dining table) pressed against his throttle. The man slowly turned his head to gaze back at her. She narrowed her eyes, staring straight into his stark green irises. A mess of dark brown, almost black hair, was tied into a sloppy ponytail. His coat and trousers were a mud brown color, and he did not smell—nor look—like the most hygienic person.

_Odd_, thought Elizabeth to herself numbly. _He doesn't look like the sort of person to be riding a rich carriage._

A smile crept onto his face as recognition flickered in his eyes. "Well, well. If it isn't Elizabeth Swann, ex-criminal." His accent wasn't very high-class, either. "I see that you've resorted back to your old ways. Not that I ever believed Beckett's little story of you being just a hostage of the pirates, forced into their ways. I always knew you were bad to the core."

"You'll find that being 'bad to the core' makes me a lot less helpless than others," Elizabeth said smoothly as she dug the knife in a bit, though not enough to pierce the skin. "Where is this carriage headed?"

Derrick pursed his lips. "Where do you think?"

Elizabeth's eyes darted to the window, looking out. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized just where she was headed. "Wh..."

And in that small window of surprise, Derrick grabbed Elizabeth's wrist, twisted her arm a bit, and wrenched the knife from her hand. She yelped as he proceeded to then point it at _her_ throat. She glared at him with fury as he smirked triumphantly. "Well, well... what to do with you now, sweet?"

Elizabeth stared back at him coldly, and then noticed that Derrick's eyes were wandering—downwards. Her whole face flushed as she realized where he was looking, and wished she hadn't worn such a low-cut dress. Slapping an arm over the top of her exposed cleavage, she hissed through clenched teeth, "You shameless pervert!"

A crooked smile played his lips. "You're in my hands now, sweet, so you shouldn't be insulting me if you want to stay safe."

She glared at him. "You're disgusting," she hissed.

He grinned wryly. "Now, kindly tell me what you were planning on doing?"

Elizabeth looked at the knife at her neck and pouted a bit. "I'm not telling you."

The knife dug into her neck a little—and Derrick Parker was not gentle about it. Elizabeth winced as a small lick of blood emerged from her throat, and narrowed her eyes. Derrick smiled. "Would you like to rethink your answer?"

"I was... going to assume control of your carriage and try to visit one of my far-off friends," Elizabeth lied, but gasped exasperatedly to further make her act look convincing.

Derrick considered this, and then frowned. "Really," he said dryly, a skeptical look lurking in his eyes.

"Yes. Really," said Elizabeth desperately. "Now please put that knife down. Please." She begged with her eyes.

Derrick stared at the knife with an observant eye, as if he was ignoring her. Just like how Beckett fixed his buttons. Then, he grinned. "It's not a bad knife at all," he said conversationally. "In fact, it almost reminds me of the _cutlery_ in the Beckett estate."

She would have laughed at his blatant pun, were it not for the small sting of the blade in her neck. Glaring, Elizabeth seethed, "That would be because it's _from_ the Beckett household."

His eyebrows rose just a slight. "And however did you filch this from him, sweet?"

"The good, honorable Lord Beckett has been taking care of me," Elizabeth hissed. "Even allowing me to eat at the same dining table as him."

Derrick sneered. "Now that just doesn't make sense, sweet. The honorable Lord Beckett is graciously taking care of the now-orphan, Ms. Swann? Then why does he not grant her a carriage to use, instead of forcing her to snatch one from the streets? By the point of a stolen steak knife, no less?"

Elizabeth blinked. _This man is brighter than he looks,_ she thought to herself miserably. "Well..." she started to say slowly, but then the carriage screeched to a halt.

He gave a small smile. "Well!" he said lightheartedly. "Looks like we're just about to find out what Beckett himself has to say about the matter." He slipped the knife into his sleeve and dragged Elizabeth out by the wrist. Striding through the gates, he walked around the fountain in the garden and stopped in front of the doors.

A surprised guard met them there. Elizabeth was furious; it was clear on her face, and this got the guard perturbed. "Well... ah... Mr. Parker, sir..." the guard stuttered.

"I've come to the Lord Beckett's call," Derrick announced loudly. "And I've brought his pet, Ms. Swann, with me."

Elizabeth flushed. _Pet?_ She thought to herself incredulously, _I am not Beckett's pet. Nowhere near that kind of heinous status!_

"I... see," stammered the guard. He opened up the doors quickly.

The two of them headed into the grand foyer. Derrick continued to walk towards the staircase when suddenly Elizabeth grabbed him and forced him to face her. "You're _mad_," she snarled. "You're going to get me killed. Perhaps you yourself as well!"

Derrick grinned ruthlessly. "Shouldn't've gone after my carriage, then, sweet."

Elizabeth paused, then started spewing nonsense for a bit in her utter rage. Then she managed to get out coherent words. "You're—you—you're not of a rich heritage, now are you? Somehow I doubt that you accessed that carriage with entirely legal approaches, either!"

For a moment, Derrick Parker actually looked injured. But then that expression, that look of hurt, was quickly patched up with a pompous face. Snorting lightly, he responded, "I work for the EITC, sweet. Although I'm not of rich nor noble blood—of that you are true—I've enough funding to get myself a nice abode and a carriage, to boot. Oh, and a lot of servants. A lot of _female_ servants, may I add—"

"You're rotten," Elizabeth snapped. "You're worse than any pirate."

A laugh. "Oh really?" Derrick said, and then whipped out the Beckett steak knife, pointing it at her neck, over the small wound he had inflicted earlier. The blood had ceased trickling, but a small stream still remained on her skin. She had not yet bothered to wipe it off. For a moment, he paused, observing her. And then he spoke again; "I must admit, you _are_ quite fine, though your attitude is simply inappropriate. I don't doubt how James Norrington fell for you, however."

Elizabeth flushed, then became flustered. "What do you know of James?" she snapped. Memories flooded through her. Oh, James. She had been so cruel to him, so entranced in Will that she had never deigned to pay him any mind—oh, did she regret it, when his cold, dead body hit the floor of the _Flying Dutchman_... Already she could feel the tears forming, but she held them back. If she would not cry for Beckett, then she certainly would not cry for the likes of Derrick Parker.

Derrick opened his mouth to respond, but it was Cutler Beckett's voice that reverberated. "Ah, Mister Derrick Parker. It's nice to see you again. Although, I _was_ anticipating our encounter to be over luncheon rather than knife-point?"

Derrick paled momentarily, but then smirked, quickly gaining his cool, turning to the approaching Lord. Beckett looked nonchalant, but his gaze was locked on Elizabeth. And it was not a kind stare. "Ah. Lord Beckett," Derrick said as smoothly as he could, lowering the knife. He hesitated before wiping off Elizabeth's blood onto his sleeve, and then holding it out to Beckett, who stared at it with repulse. "It's... yours," Derrick added hesitantly.

Beckett was silent. Then he smirked, snorting lightly with a _hmph_. "So it is," he said softly and took it gently, handing it to a nearby servant. He paused a bit, and then said, "Please. Come this way, Mr. Parker." Another pause, and then he added towards a guard, "Take Ms. Swann, here, to her room. And guard her well, if you would."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but the guard quickly dragged her away.

* * *

"No! Release me!" She screamed as she pounded on the doors. Grabbing onto the door-handles, she relentlessly and pointlessly tried to open them. Again and again she tried until finally she gave a resigned groan, turning and throwing herself upon the bed.

"Damn it," Elizabeth muttered under her breath. She grabbed the blanket and dabbed it on her cut wound, purposely soiling the cream sheets with blood. She hoped Beckett, or one of his servants, would see it. And she hoped it would annoy.

Thrusting herself off of the bed, she strode over to the mirror and gazed at herself. Despite all the wear-and-tear she had just experienced, she still looked somewhat fine. She just looked like a well-dressed, rich lady who had just been through a bit of turbulence, that was all. And a cut on the neck. Well, that was small. Unnoticeable. Yet so exposed. Seeing it bothered her.

Elizabeth quickly got herself a change of clothes into something a bit more casual, although it annoyed her with the thought that Beckett would be seeing her dressed like this, seeing as she was in his... house. She shuddered. This was simply just not an ideal situation, she thought to herself miserably. She would have to devise a plan. And _get out of here_. Straightening out the skirt of her dress, she checked herself one last time, and then deemed herself fit.

She walked over to the doors again, but this time gave a polite knock. "I was wondering, officer, if you could escort me to the library, sir. I'm quite bored in here, and there's nothing for me to occupy myself with. It would do both you and I much good favor if you were to take me there."

There was a pause as the two guards bartered back between each other. Then, the doors opened, and the officer was stern-faced as he said, "The Lord Beckett did anticipate that you would need... amusement. And he said that in the case that you did, we were to grant it to you. So please come this way."

They led her to the library, and quite swiftly, though Elizabeth figured that the faster they went, the better. They reached the grand doors to the library, and the two guards opened them for her. She headed in.

Elizabeth had never before ventured into the Beckett library, but she knew of it. The one back in his London home was far larger, so she'd heard, but he still maintained a collection to be proud of in Port Royal. That was what she had heard. That was not what she had seen.

It was huge. Towering bookshelves hugged every wall, and the windows barely had any space to peep through. Books of all kinds, both worn and new, were neatly shelved away. A few lounge couches and such were about in the room, but they did not seem to have been used recently. The familiar smell of old books filled Elizabeth's nostrils, but she did not curl her nose. It was alright with her. Better to smell that than the stench of Jack's breath, she figured with a small smile.

She walked about, observing the volumes, searching for one that piqued her interest. Then she blinked as she found a very old book, unshelved, sitting on the table. _My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates_, it was called. By... Captain Ward? Slowly, she reached out for it, but then flinched as Beckett's voice rung through her ears.

"I'd rather you didn't," he said softly. "It might fall apart; it's so old."

Elizabeth quickly turned to face Beckett, her eyes full of surprise. Then anger flooded her again, but she said in a controlled tone, "I thought you were... discussing business with Mr. Parker."

"Of course," replied Beckett. "It was just good business."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth inquired incredulously. The answer made no sense.

"You will find out soon enough. Patience is a virtue, Ms. Swann," he said in response, which only served to infuriate her further.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the book. "Is this yours?"

"Of course." Beckett walked over and picked it up, somewhat gently. "I read it when I was younger," he said quietly, as if it was an unspoken secret.

Elizabeth was perturbed. Never before had she ever imagined Cutler Beckett as a child, and just the thought disturbed her for some reason. And this book certainly didn't look like the type that _he_ would read. It looked more like the type that he would _burn_. "When you were younger," she repeated dumbly.

"I haven't had much time to simply sit down and read recently." Beckett paused. "But I doubt I would hardly even enjoy reading such childish tales these days."

"Hmph," said Elizabeth. "That's simply because you're too stiff to appreciate it."

He snorted. "Is that so," he responded. Then he placed the book back down, with care. "I'd imagine that you read quite well, Elizabeth."

"Oh, yes, I do," replied Elizabeth, pleased. She remembered the old days, before the _Black Pearl_ had attacked Port Royal, how books had been her one way to escape her somewhat dismal reality. "I prefer romantic poetry and novels, myself."

"Shakespeare?" Beckett inquired.

"Quite. I've read some of his plays, and most of his poetry," Elizabeth said fondly.

Beckett smiled. "Clever girl," he said softly. _Just like Sparrow,_ he thought to himself. _Almost the same answers, as well._

Elizabeth flushed for some odd reason. Here she was, with her sworn enemy—talking about literature? She supposed that, were she on good terms with the Lord Beckett, he would not be too bad to simply chat with, if not for his somewhat condescending mood. That aside, though, she hadn't had a civil conversation like this in—_agh_! No, shake the thought! _He killed your father,_ she reminded herself virulently. _You hate him!_ She wanted so badly to be angry again, but she did not want to seem childish, or she would only amuse him again. Keeping calm, Elizabeth said, "So am I allowed to access this... collection?"

Beckett pursed his lips. "But of course, Ms. Swann." The name stung a slight, but she had grown used to it by now. As far as all of Britain was concerned, she was still single Elizabeth Swann, and William Turner was just a vagabond. "I simply ask that you are gentle with these books. They are quite old and I haven't had the time to keep them well-maintained as of late."

"Too much time chasing after pirates, I'd assume," Elizabeth snapped back irritably.

Beckett frowned, all good humor gone. Suddenly, she felt horribly guilty—and upset. She had liked the conversational, polite Beckett, who spoke about books and Shakespeare and had a very nice private library. And all that was gone, now—for one little comment. Naught but little more than a pleasurable memory. "Perhaps," Beckett said curtly, yet somewhat stiffly.

Elizabeth swallowed. She had been too insensitive, and she regretted it. "I..." she said slowly, and then bit her lip. "I'll just... read now, I suppose."

He nodded. He was distant, again, and she hated it. Turning, he said, 'Make yourself comfortable, if you will. We hope to leave sometime this week."

Elizabeth turned away, as well. "And what of Jack? Barbossa? And the crew? The _Pearl_?"

"Patience," said Beckett with a smirk as he stepped out of the library. "You will find out eventually, Ms. Swann."

He left her there to fume. But she wouldn't be so easily angered, not anymore. Elizabeth picked up the _My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates_ book. She ran her finger over the worn spine and tried to imagine Beckett as a young boy, reading this very same volume. Finding that she couldn't, she instead flipped the page open and decided to do something she _could_ do.

Elizabeth read.

* * *

A/N: Yes, things are finally starting to pick up! For those of you wondering, the book and Beckett's thoughts about Jack are all references to _The Price of Freedom_ by AC Crispin. If you (somehow) haven't heard of this wonderful book yet, it's a book about Jack back when he worked for the EITC. The second excerpt includes a chpter between Jack and Beckett. AC Crispin is an amazing author—excellent characterization! She keeps both of them in such perfect character, and develops on Beckett and Jack's relationship so well (not that way!). I can't wait to get the book, myself—supposedly, it's to be released on the same week as the fourth movie, _On Stranger Tides_, is set (May 17, 2011). By the way, if you'd like, I can send you an email with the link to the .pdf for the second excerpt should you want to read it. I do recommend it, though. Albeit brief, it is very good.

So, I have some questions for you guys. How, um, _"far"_ are you willing to go? Usually, I prefer to simply stick with a really light lemon that describes not the interaction in itself, but the emotions during the experience. (Hah, this is so very awkward.) But that is just me. Do you readers have limits? Any preferences? Smut, light smut, no smut, lemon? Please review with your answers, just so I know my boundaries. Thank you!


	5. Negotiations

A/N: Alright, so I read all of your reviews! Thanks for the answers, I can now comfortably say that the worst we'll get is just a light little lemon. (x I've never liked it heavy, anyway. Don't worry, this story still won't be getting anything beyond its "T" rating. Now, huge thanks to my reviewers (and readers!): **SunAndMoon16**, **ninjalover13**, **g**, and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**. Thank you, you guys! You're the reason why I'm even still writing this! XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Negotiations.**

"And just wot," said Jack Sparrow smoothly in his thick, drunken voice, "do you think you are doing with _my_ ship?" He gestured to the _Black Pearl_ with a slight sway in his back. The black ship was docked by the HMS _Endeavour_, and there was a great large amount of men crowded around and upon it.

Beckett ignored him. Turning to the guards escorting Jack, he commanded, "Take Mr. Sparrow, here, to the _Endeavour_'s brig. There's been a slight change of plan, although I expect the same amount of security there as on the _Obstinance_."

The guards nodded and dragged Jack away. Beckett watched them go, and then turned to Derrick Parker, who was standing on the pier, staring out at the sea, looking contemplative—an expression that didn't fit him.

"You don't look quite happy, Mr. Parker," said Beckett curtly, nodding to his new right-hand man.

"Why is the _Black Pearl_ docked here? By the _Endeavour_, no less? She should have been wrecked by now. In front of Sparrow. For sprite," Derrick responded bitterly.

Beckett smiled a slight. "And why does the _Pearl_'s status concern you?"

Derrick clammed up.

Beckett sneered, and then turned back to face the _Pearl_. "Indeed, I never expected to see her again," he said after a pause. "The last I saw the _Black Pearl_, she was known by another name; she was on fire, sinking into the sea. And Sparrow _was_ watching intently, believe me."

Derrick was intrigued. "Set on fire, you say. And claimed by the sea. However did she survive that?"

Beckett snorted lightly and began walking back to his estate. "Come," he said, and his right-hand man quickly shuffled after.

"Well?" Derrick snapped, growing impatient with Beckett's silence.

Beckett suddenly found his frock coat button to be very interesting.

Derrick grumbled. "What are you planning?" he snarled. "Don't think I'm stupid enough to trust you. I heard what happened to Ian Mercer."

"Mr. Mercer," huffed Beckett, "was a casualty of the War Against Piracy. There was no murderous intent on my part toward his death."

"Really," Derrick muttered dryly. "Is that so?"

No answer from Beckett.

Derrick rolled his eyes. "Just what aren't you telling me?"

After a long pause, Beckett said with a serious expression, "There is an issue _far_ more troublesome." Derrick looked intrigued as Beckett continued: "Ms. Swann will be accompanying us on our voyage, and she will require the utmost protection."

Derrick swiveled to face Beckett, stopping him from proceeding. "Are you nuts—?" he snapped, and then caught his language. "Lord—Lord Beckett. That's insanity. A lady on a ship. That's—bad luck!"

Beckett snorted. "Hardly. 'Bad luck'? Really, Mr. Parker. I thought you were beyond such childish superstitions."

"Well—" Derrick spluttered, and then snarled: "A woman cannot be onboard a ship. That's simply just improper."

"Improper, you say," said Beckett mildly. "Not that _you_ are one for propriety, Mr. Parker."

"It's still not a good idea!" Derrick complained. "She'll be a waste of resources, damn it. And she's too delicate to do any work. You know how those of the fairer sex complain at the slightest muscle tear."

Beckett scoffed. "Are you not the one who insisted that she was a pirate through-and-through?" He swerved on the heel of his boot to face Derrick. "Rest assured, Mr. Parker: Elizabeth Swann is more than simply 'useful' on this trip."

Derrick rolled his eyes. "Surely, with that talk of yours, you aren't thinking of _taking_ her, are you? Believe me when I say that she's too feisty for that."

Beckett merely turned his head away, continuing to walk through the gardens. He was a bit past his right-hand man when he muttered under his breath, "Elizabeth 'Becket'?" Pausing for a while, he hesitated, mulling the concept over before he smirked. Still turned away from Derrick, he said loud enough for him to hear: "Regardless of your beliefs, Mr. Parker, I do intend to bring Ms. Swann with us. And you _will_ guard her."

Derrick ran after Beckett to catch up with him. "Nonsense!" He hissed under his breath. "I refuse!"

"Do you?" said Beckett darkly, his brows rising a tad.

Derrick's lip curled. "And what can _you_ do about it, _Lord_ Beckett?"

Beckett sneered. "You are bound by contract, Mr. Parker. Remember what you signed up for."

Derrick flared. "I—"

"—cannot resign," Beckett cut in curtly.

Derrick's lips squeezed together. His brows furrowed. He hated to admit it, but Beckett was right. He _had_ signed the contract. And he had, indeed, agreed to serve on the Pirate Lord extermination voyage. But that was before he had known that Beckett would make him his right-hand man. And that _Elizabeth Swann_ of all people would be attending.

He was quiet as the two of them arrived at the entrance to the Beckett estate. They passed through the gates swiftly and without interruption. The gardens were being tended to meticulously by a series of servants. Derrick looked around and rolled his eyes. "Who even sees these gardens, anyways? What's the point of making them look pretty?" he said indignantly.

"I see them," Beckett responded matter-of-factly. "And therefore, they must be perfect."

Derrick groaned. Moving on from the topic, he said, "And where is Elizabeth Swann?"

Beckett pursed his lips. "Ms. Swann," he said in a clipped tone, "is enjoying herself in the library, alone."

Derrick smirked. "Cooping her up in there, are you?" He lowered his voice. "Just what are you doing with little Swann, I wonder? Keeping her in your house, under heavy guard? Not letting her out without spies? Forcing her to steal a carriage from me to get virtually anywhere? Seems mighty suspicious to me, _milord_."

Beckett stopped walking. The two of them paused in the middle of the rose gardens. He sighed, drawing out his exhalation. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said in a low voice, "And what interest is _she_ to _you_?"

Derrick's grin widened. By the way Beckett was avoiding the question, he knew that he was onto something, he realized. And he would not lose this little hint of a way to gain leverage on the Lord. "That's not the question, milord. The question is—what interest is she to _you_?"

"Elizabeth Swann," Beckett snapped back abruptly, "is information in its material form. Information is knowledge, and knowledge is power, Mr. Parker. Power must be kept safe in order to be used, I am sure you are aware."

_He is _definitely_ hiding something,_ Derrick thought to himself with an even wider grin. _But what? Certainly there isn't... no, it can't be... not an _affair_ of all things!_ "Yes," he mumbled. "Of... course."

Beckett glanced at Derrick. His observant eyes noted the look of thought on the normally-impulsive face of Derrick Parker. Beckett nodded a slight, and then led Derrick to his carriage. "I shall see you later, then, Mr. Parker. On the day of our voyage."

Derrick had a smug expression. "Of _course_, milord," he drawled. Hopping into the carriage, he began humming to himself joyously as the vehicle rode off.

Beckett watched him go. After Derrick was out-of-sight, he turned and headed back out towards the pier.

* * *

"Jack," drawled Barbossa as he sat on the floor of the brig, leaning against the wall. "What _are_ ye doin', Jack?"

The guards shoved Jack into the next cell over. He stumbled in, swaying a bit as he finally steadied himself (well, as steady as Jack Sparrow could be). "Wot?" said Jack as he whipped his head around a bit. Coming over to the bars, he wrapped his thin, spidery hands around the rungs, and then poked his head as far out as he could, his nose protruding out. "Hector!" he exclaimed in an enthusiastic tone.

Barbossa rolled his eyes. "Jack, queer as ye might be, this be not the time to act... _silly_."

Jack seemed insulted. His eyes widened, but also went out of focus, as he muttered, "I could _really_ use me jar of dirt. Or a peanut."

"Jack," said Barbossa irritably, "what did that scoundrel Cutler Beckett be tellin' ye?"

Jack paused. His eyes were both thoughtful and empty. "Beckett?" he questioned haltingly.

"Aye," snarled Barbossa, growing impatient with Jack's airheaded attitude. "What did Beckett do with ye?"

Jack hesitated. "Ah... _aaahhh_!" He suddenly exclaimed, a look of brilliance crossing him. "Lizzie!" He snapped in the air. "Yes, that wos it—Lizzie. Lizzie. Our distress in damsel. Er, damsel in distress," he quickly corrected himself. Pausing, he added, "She's in deep trouble, mate."

"Trouble?" said Barbossa, cocking a brow. "And what kind of trouble has befallen our Ms. Turner?"

"Dunno," Jack muttered. "He was bloody vague 'bout that. Though I'd imagine that the wigged midget has—bleh!—taken a bit of _interest_ in little Lizzie."

At this, Barbossa laughed; a full-out, hearty chuckle. "The likes o' Cutler _Beckett_, interested in the Pirate King?" He let himself snerk for a little longer before he finally calmed down and actually thought about the notion seriously. Then he blinked, and then said, "Actually, the thought is not bein' too far from a possible truth..."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Yes it is! Quite far from the truth, actually!" He said, exasperated. "The li'l bugger killed Lizzie's father. More than enough a bloody reason t'hate his guts, don't y'think?"

Barbossa grinned. "You be forgettin' that Ms. Turner is but a forgivin' lass. She be on rather friendly terms with me, though it was not long ago that I filched her from Port Royal and forced her aboard me ship, shedding her blood upon the cursed chest of Cortes to lift the curse that had befallen me crew." He paused and added seriously, "That was when ye shot me, Jack."

Jack grinned halfheartedly. "Good thing you're back, then, eh, mate?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes.

Jack sighed, and then said, "That's _very_ different, mate. You see, _you_ didn't kill anyone back at the Isle de Muerta, even though I'm bloody sure ya thought uv'it. But _Beckett_"—his arms flailed about as his hands made odd gestures, as if moving his arms was going to get across his thought process—"_Beckett_ killed our damsel's father, and killing isn't something you can take back. If the li'l lassie has any sort of a brain in her—which she does—she _won't_ get close to the belligerent wigged midget and she _will_ get you an' me an' Gibbs out of here."

"Aye, Jack, nice to be knowin' that you haven't forgotten me," said Gibbs's hoarse voice from the other cell.

Jack smiled, pleased with himself and his outstanding memory.

Barbossa seemed perturbed. "She be a woman, Jack. Considerin' how many times ye've been _slapped_ across yer cheeks, I'd think ye be knowin' how women think."

Jack's smile was wiped off his face. "Scarlett and Giselle," he said stiffly, "are not even on the comparably same level as Lizzie."

Barbossa smirked triumphantly. Sparring with Jack was easy, but with words, things were a little bit harder. Jack was clever and drunken with his words, which made him both unpredictable and very intelligent. Crossing swords, Barbossa decided, was nothing like crossing tongues. Good thing he was skilled and agile at both, though.

Then, footsteps echoed through the wood of the ship. All three of the brig's occupants, and the guards, perked up a bit, their heads turning to the direction of the stairs. Then their expressions became very, _very_ mixed.

"Eugh," said Jack between his teeth.

"'Eugh' indeed," Beckett calmly said in response.

* * *

"...Quite an empty office now, isn't it?" Jack noted as he stood in the rather-emptied office of the _Endeavour_, curious fingers probing at whatever was still left. The large map of the world, and all the figurines, as well as the globe, had been removed. The desks and the painting of Beckett was also absent. The only things left were a few chairs. "Why is there nothing in here?" Jack asked, looking confused.

Beckett started adjusting his cuff button. "Jack," he said under his breath, "why do you think?"

Jack gave the room another glance. He threw his arms into an exaggerated shrug and said, "Yer moving offices?" He paused and added, "But where to?"

Beckett turned to face the window, gazing out of it. His arms were behind his back, his fingers knotted together. His eyes stared out at the _Black Pearl_, sitting not far from the _Endeavour_.

Jack suddenly looked very, very perturbed. "Wot are ya doin' with _MY_ ship?"

"Don't worry, Jack," murmured Beckett. "She will be relatively safe under the jurisdiction of the Company."

Jack frowned. "That's wot worries me, mate."

_Mate?_ Becket thought to himself incredulously. _Since when were we "mates"?_

"You see," drawled Jack as he crept closer to Beckett, "the phrase 'under the jurisdiction of the Company' _usually_ means captured, remodeled, and reused. That's wot yer doing t'me ship, isn't it?" And with that remark, he curled his fingers onto Beckett's shoulders.

Beckett looked disgusted and shrugged him off, then turned around, nudging him away. He noticed how lax Jack was around him. Perhaps, even after all those years, they still had some sense of camaraderie. The lord smirked a bit. "Jack, Jack, Jack..." he said quietly. "The _Wicked Wench_ has always been mine."

Jack opened his mouth, the corner of his lips twitching. "By my reckoning—" he started to say, but Beckett swiftly cut him off.

"By _your_ reckoning?" Beckett scoffed. "Jack, you're no longer in control. Not _anymore_, you aren't." He walked closer to the smelly pirate. "Befitting for a traitor such as you, isn't it?"

Jack frowned again. "By _my_ reckoning," he repeated indignantly, "she's not even the _Wench_ anymore, now _is_ she? Thanks to _Davy Jones_, she's the _Pearl_ now, and she's mine."

"And now she is mine again," said Beckett darkly. "You betrayed my trust, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. And for those who betray me, I make sure to pay them back in return."

Jack stuck out his tongue and cringed. "Rather be a free an' good man than a slave trader," he muttered.

"You are a criminal," Beckett snapped. "And a pirate. A fugitive from justice. A lecherous, shameless, smelly pervert. A plunderer, thief, and common burglar. And a rum addict. And you could do with more baths." He paused, letting the slew of insults settle in. "Had you agreed to transport those slaves," he said in a low voice, "you would be none of those."

Jack's mouth moved, but his words couldn't be discerned.

Beckett began to pace, a habit that he thought was long revoked. Yet it had returned now, and that was no thanks to Jack. "The HMS _Pearl_ will set sail in a few days. You, Captain Barbossa, and Joshamee Gibbs will remain in the _Endeavour_'s brig during the expedition. Ms. Swann will supply us with a heading to the Pirate Lords—but should she stray from what is appropriate, _you_ will be punished." He stopped his pacing for a moment and swerved to face Jack. "And should Ms. Swann _succeed_, then you, your crew, and your ship will be... _free_." The way the word "free" rolled off his lips sent shudders down Jack's spine. There was something dark about it. But freedom shouldn't be dark.

"Wot _exactly_ do you mean by 'free'?" Jack inquired suspiciously.

Beckett sneered. "Patience is a virtue, Mr. Sparrow, which could use more of. You will find out eventually what ill fate is to become of you."

Jack's lip curled. "Why did you even bring me here? Just to mock t'me face?"

"Bargain!" Beckett replied.

"_Bargain_?" Jack said, looking insulted. "I think the _last time_ I made a bargain with _YOU_, it wos broken."

"It was nothing personal, Jack," Beckett responded delicately. "It was just good business."

Jack seemed a little disgusted. "So you ditch an arrangement when it no longer benefits you." His brows furrowed together. "You must be _quite_ th' lonely li'l bugger."

"Powerful," Beckett corrected sharply.

"Lonely!" Jack shot back.

"So be it," Beckett said curtly. His jaw started to move, chewing on nothing. A habit he developed when his mind was in turmoil.

Jack waited.

Beckett finally turned to face him. "Be grateful that I have decided to spare your life," he said smoothly. "Considering your transgressions, you really should be hanging from the gallows. This is an act of _charity_ on my part."

Jack grinned. "But you never _were_ one to be for cannonade and cutlass, _were_ you?"

"The gallows are neither cannonade nor cutlass," Beckett corrected. He paused, then added softly, "Astute observation, Mr. Sparrow."

"Of course it's astute. Who am I?" Jack said, smiling like an idiot. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"

* * *

A/N: So~ that's it for now. Please review!


	6. Letter

A/N: Well, I'm glad that it seems to people that Jack was quite in-character. He and Barbossa are quite difficult to write, to be honest. XD Anyway, huge, grateful, special thanks to my lovely readers and reviewers: **g**, **SunAndMoon16**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, **ninjalover13**, **ShesASuperFreak317**, and **Cap'n Jackie Sparrow**. Thank you so much, guys! This one's for you! Also, for Cap'n Jackie Sparrow: thanks much about the feedback on my characterization! I'm hugely relieved to see that Jack and Beckett are in-character and their lines are all good. XD

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: A horrendously written French accent within.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Letter.**

"_The Hearte of Zerzura was not far, we surmised, and it would be amonge the Golde and Gem..."_ Elizabeth's eyes read as they raced across the page. Her mind sucked in all the incoming information as she envisioned the lush settings in her head. The thick brush of Zerzura, the misty fog, the nasty wound on Captain Ward's shoulder, the buzz of insect nests, the thick and humid air... Just as she was about to turn the page, though, a voice rung through the library.

"Good evening, Ms. Swann. I trust you have been enjoying yourself?" said Beckett as he approached her.

She quickly dog-eared the page—noting the look of disgust crossing Beckett's face—and got up from the lounge chair. "Yes, I have. Especially due to your absence," she said indignantly, though she was smiling and of good humor.

Beckett smirked wryly. Then he seized the book from Elizabeth and opened up to the dog-eared page. After a brief moment of his eyes scanning over the words, he creased out the ear and said a soft "Ah". Walking towards a bookshelf, he snatched an oak bookmark and slipped it into the pages. "So what do you think of Captain Ward's tale?" he inquired as he ran his fingers over the cover, eyes intent on the book rather than on his prisoner.

"It's intriguing," Elizabeth responded distantly. She did not want to admit just how much she had enjoying the little, worn book.

Beckett looked up from the volume. "Treasure and riches do not interest you?" he inquired conversationally.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Can treasure and riches bring back the man I love?"

Beckett smiled. "Good girl," he said quietly. Turning to face her, he said, "Riches no longer interest me, either, Ms. Swann. Currency can only take you so far in the realm of power. My desires are not nearly so provincial."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. Yet again, he was spouting out the same old phrases as before, almost as if he was mocking her. "You want whatever can give you the most power. Don't you?"

He smirked. "Control, Ms. Swann. _That_ is what I desire."

"Control of the seas," she questioned in the tone of a statement.

"The only thing which I have not yet tamed," he elaborated.

"But you can't tame _everything_," Elizabeth argued gently.

"Can't I?" said Beckett, eyebrows rising.

She gazed at him. Studied him. Gauged him. Judged him. After consideration, she said, "No."

Beckett turned his head a slight. "Britain," he said softly, "is already mine." He walked over to a smaller globe model sitting on a stand by the lounge chair, cut of onyx and silver. Gently running his fingers over the smooth surface, he turned it with one sweep. The globe lazily spun on its axis. "Africa, too. Singapore and India, of course. And all the trade routes to the Orient."

Elizabeth watched, entranced by the globe's turning. Before, she had always thought of how small and _weak_ the Lord Beckett had seemed. Yet now she him so differently. Power, she realized. He exuded power. And that was what had changed the light with which she viewed him.

"America, eventually, I suppose," Beckett added boredly. "Though there is hardly anything there to conquer quite yet, save some few colonies." He stopped the globe's continuous turning. "The Company's influence now spreads worldwide," Beckett noted aloud. "And therefore, _my_ influence is thus... _worldwide_."

"Do you intend to own the entire world?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. "What, then, when you have everything?"

Beckett did not answer. Perhaps, Elizabeth thought to herself, it was because he did not _have_ an answer. Turning away, he said in a low voice, "We leave on the HMS _Pearl_ Thursday morning. I expect you to be fully prepared by then."

Elizabeth gaped. "Thursday morning? But that's the day after tomorrow!" she exclaimed, exasperated. She did not catch the phrase "HMS _Pearl_" in the midst of her disbelief.

"So it is," Beckett replied. "Preparations for the fleet anticipate completion by tonight. Tomorrow will be spent straightening out business matters," he said as he left the library, the heels of his boots echoing throughout the room.

Elizabeth swore under her breath, using a term that, earlier, would have merited a reprimand from her father. Her _dead_ father, she reminded herself infuriately. And all Beckett's fault. With a groan, she picked up the book and quickly exited the library.

* * *

The Brethren Court had gathered. There was a great lot of squabbling. Bottles cracked, pistols swung, and Captain Teague's music ushered on the fray. One pirate was unconscious on the table, and others were fighting on top of him.

Just as another fight was about to break out, Capitaine Chevalle finally stood up and fired his pistol. The sharp, clear shot rung throughout the hall. The scuffle slowly diminished, and the pirates settled down.

"Zere is _nol_ time to be squabbling!" the French captain exclaimed in his horrendously thick accent as he lowered his gun.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"_Trois Pirate Seigneurs_ have been kidnapped!" Chevalle shouted. "Including ze King!"

Mistress Ching rolled her eyes. "And what did that little _girl_ do in the end?" she hissed. "Get us captured and _attacked_!"

The pirates roared in agreement.

"Barbossa and _Sparrow_—gone. Because of _Cutler Beckett_ and our _King's_ blunder!" Ching snarled. "Why should we go back for those fools?"

"Sri Sumbhajee says we flee!" said one of the Indian's assistants.

"To where?" Gentleman Jocard snapped. "Barbossa knows exactly every hideout of ours. If they provoke the man enough, there be no doubt in my mind that he'll tell Beckett all of the locations!"

After more discussion, Sumbhajee's assistant spoke again. "Sri Sumbhajee says that you are a mindless _mūrkha_! How would you know? That man Beckett has probably _hanged_ Barbossa and Sparrow by this point!"

"Beckett's no fool," Captain Teague cut in gruffly. "He'll keep Jackie and Hector alive. Use them to track us down. And then hang all nine of us together."

The Brethren Court became quiet.

"Just for spite," Teague added. "All nine Pirate Lords standing in a row at the gallows. He'll watch and see which one of us dies out first once the noose is dropped."

After a long silence, someone finally spoke. "So what be you proposing, Cap'n Teague?" said Ammand the Corsair.

Teague stopped plucking at the strings of his little guitar. Heaving a sigh, he said, "We can't fight. That course of action has already been ruled out. A brawl between us and the Company's fleet would wipe out one of _them_ and _all_ of _us_."

The pirates nodded in assent.

"But we can't stay here, either," he added dryly. "Shipwreck Cove is a fortress, but it's only one fortress. If we all stay here, then all of us go down if they bust through our defenses." Another pause as he considered. Then Teague continued: "And Jocard is right. Hector's a snaky little bastard. If it benefits him, he'll do it. And he won't hesitate to betray our locations if that's what's gonna keep him alive."

Chevalle hesitated, mustering up words. Then he said, "Zen _what_ is our course of act_ion_?"

Teague got up from his chair slowly as he said, "Disguise."

"Disguise?" Villanueva repeated.

"Forget that you're Pirate Lords. Disguise yourselves so that you don't even know you're you," Teague said. "And try to live a little lawfully."

More silence from the court.

"Until the Court can be gathered safely again, you're just gonna have to deal with livin' that way," said Captain Teague. "It's either that or certain death."

Then he turned and left.

* * *

Elizabeth shuffled around in bed, trying to force herself asleep. Even though this was her third night here, she still wasn't used to sleeping in the Beckett estate. The idea of the Lord Beckett trouncing around in the same house as the one she slumbered in—_eugh_! It was just _weird_. And _wrong_.

She turned and moved about. The house was cold, odd and strange. And she hated it. She wished she could return to her own home, but the Lord Beckett didn't trust her. Not in the least, no.

Shifting onto her side, Elizabeth squirmed over to the book sitting on her little nightstand. She reached out and opened it up to her bookmark. Blinking, she spotted a small slip of paper inserted into the crease. She removed it slowly, hesitantly. Unfolding it, she looked inside. Her eyes darted over the cursive words, sucking in the information written upon the paper slip.

"_Dearest Elizabeth;_

_I sincerely hope you are safe and well. Of what I have heard from the Lord Beckett, it seems that the likes of pirates have taken an interest in you. I hope that this is not so, yet I am aware that there is little I can do for you, endeavour as I may. Please, my darling, please stay out of harm's way. I worry for you—though this I know you know. I have already lost your mother... please do not make me endure the loss of my only daughter, as well._

_I sent this letter to you in hopes that you will come back to Port Royal, Elizabeth. I know that the Lord Beckett may not be the most admirable nor kind-hearted of men, yet I promise you that we will be safe under his jurisdiction. Yes, it is true that in Jamaica, there is a bit of riot. The Lord Beckett has__ signed papers including the decrees to abolish simple, basic, and human rights; _habeas corpus_ and the right to assembly among them. I must wonder what the Lord Beckett offered to Parliament to convince them to allow him these powers. After all, Lord he may be, but he is just the Chairman of the Honourable East India Trading Company, not a governor (though you can clearly see how well the position of "governor" has benefited me here)._

_Well, these matters cannot be helped, though it is a great shame so. I am not within authority to stop the Lord Beckett. Yet what _can_ be helped is you, Elizabeth. Please come back. And be safe, my darling._

_-Your loving father; Weatherby Swann"_

Elizabeth's eyes began to cloud with tears. She slowly read the letter again, running her fingers over the parchment, as if it was her father's last legacy. He had cared for her, even in the end. He had done whatever he could to save her, believing her to be in dire need. She folded up the letter cautiously and slipped it into her gown, right by her breast. The tears streaked freely now; she was unable to restrain them.

Then her heart panged. Had Beckett given her the note _purposely_, to kindle this sort of reaction from her? Was this letter genuine, or had he forged it? Now, she was immediately suspicious of it. And unsure. Yet she was scared to get rid of it, also. It really _could_ be the last of her father.

Elizabeth decided to keep the letter. She would need it to feed her fire for revenge against Beckett, fake or not.

* * *

"The fleet is all prepared, now, milord," said the tired officer. "The HMS _Pearl_ is ready to set sail, and have allocated your office appropriately."

"And the stench?" Beckett inquired boredly as his arms were behind his back, his hands together. His eyes gazed out from his windows at the sight of Port Royal. He was in poor spirit; the meeting with Jack had greatly infuriated him. It was odd, how well that man managed to upset him. Nothing else angered him nearly so much, except when people found it most appropriate to vandalize his things (such as that slimy wretch Davy Jones, when he had so precariously broken that expensive teacup during Beckett's pleasant teatime with the late Will Turner). Yet here was Jack Sparrow, prancing around in his drunken and unpredictable manners, saying and doing stupid things. Beckett hated unpredictable people (Davy Jones was a loose cannon, too, he noted to himself). He liked his predictable little chess pieces. He liked when things moved just as he commanded. He liked when his silver strings were perfectly in tune with his dancing marionettes. He liked when his perfect, immaculate puppets recited their lines and performed their acts just as they were scripted.

Jack Sparrow was a rogue, Beckett thought to himself. A rogue in more ways than one.

The officer stuttered. "Th-... the _stench_, milord?"

"Yes," Beckett said with an impatient undertone. "The stink of scallywags and their rum." Oh, how filthy that Sparrow was! How he had so filthily occupied the _Wicked Wench_ with his uncouth rum and manner!

"Oh," the officer stammered. "W-well, yes. That's mostly gone, milord. Although the hold, where they—the p-pirates—used to store the rum, sir, still contains that foul smell."

Beckett looked dismayed, though his expression hardly changed. "And the damage?"

"We've patched up all the gaps in the hull," the officer replied. "Doors and windows have been replaced, too. The cannons have triple guns. The gunpowder magazine is better protected, too. Overall, a very good tune-up. I daresay we've done a smashing job, milord."

"You had better," Beckett said softly, yet harshly. "I invested quite a large sum of money into the _Pearl_."

The officer bowed quickly. "Milord. She is better than ever. And still the fastest ship on the seas. Perhaps even faster, now that we have replaced her sails and rudder. She is top-notch, milord."

Beckett smiled, snorting lightly. "Good," he said quietly. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, milord," the officer said, turning and leaving.

Beckett stood there quietly until he was sure that the officer was out of earshot. Then he allowed himself a low, but brief chuckle.

He hated getting too confident. He hated the idea of underestimating and belittling the opponent—such great arrogance, he thought, led to your own downfall. Yet he was so damn close to destroying the very root of piracy that he couldn't help but be almost _giddy_ with excitement.

"Just a little longer," Cutler muttered under his breath. "And the seas will be... _mine_."

* * *

A/N: Oh, Beckett. So ebil. Anyway, sorry about the long wait—school stuff and such; I hope you can relate. Thank you so much for reading, and sorry about the short length! It won't be long until we finally embark on our journey, and that's where all the real fun begins... Anywho, go ahead and drop a review! Make sure to tell me if anything's out-of-character! Especially since I went a little bit deeper into Beckett's head this time than usual.


	7. Misjudgment

A/N: Okay! I definitely can't wait now! The next few chapters will be that voyage, and I'm so excited for it that I can hardly contain my excitement! I feel like Barbossa when he only had one more of those Aztec coins to gather! (Except with slightly less skeleton-ness.) Anyway, huge massive big thanks to my reviewers: **ninjalover13**, **SunAndMoon16**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, and **Miss Cuttlefish**. I've also started replying to my reviews, so if you have an account, I'll definitely be replying to you! For you account-less ones, I'll try to address you in the author's note section, if you'd prefer. Anyway, enough blabber; on with the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: Beckett fangirling?

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Misjudgment.**

"Elizabeth!" came the excited cries. The two girls came frolicking over as hastily as they could. One in a sunlight-yellow dress, the other in blush-red.

"Victoria! Harriet!" Elizabeth exclaimed happily, smiling. So, they _hadn't_ forgotten her. How pleasantly surprising! Her foul mood from last night diminished; already she had forgotten about the letter from her father. Beckett had also been busy this morning, so she had skipped the usual awkward breakfast with him. She was in such good spirit. "It's been so long," she beamed as they ran up to her, standing in the Port Royal courtyard by her.

Victoria, the one in red, grinned as she lifted her laced fan to her chin. "I never _did_ believe those silly rumors about you being a vagabond pirate, anyway, Elizabeth. It's so nice to hear that the Lord Beckett so generously cleared up your cruelly tarnished name!"

Elizabeth's smile tightened into something that looked rather forced and stressful. _Yes,_ she thought to herself miserably. _How generous of him._ But she kept on a good face. "Isn't it?" she said, fixing her smile into something more pleasant.

Harriet laughed. "Fancy that; I've also heard he's taken you into his home for now. Certainly the two of you aren't courting—?"

"No!" Elizabeth said sharply, and then paled. She had been to harsh. Laughing off the piercing remark, she said, "Of course not! He's just taking care of me until... the, um, _trip_."

"The trip," the two girls repeated dully.

Elizabeth nodded vigorously. "Yes, the trip. I'm being... sent off to London for the time being. To, um, recover from the loss of Will."

The girls got quiet, looking saddened. Then, Harriet finally lamented, "Oh, poor Will Turner... he was so _dashing_, too..."

"And talented!" Victoria piped up. "Talented _and_ handsome."

Elizabeth blushed. "Y-yes, he was," she said nervously and quietly. Her heart beat fervently just as the thought of him. Oh, _Will_. Such heartache...!

"Though I do think you and the Lord Beckett wouldn't be too poor a match, either," thought Harriet aloud. "He _is_ rich. And not _too_ bad-looking either, though nothing like Will Turner. And he's so polite and gentlemanly, too! I doubt I've seen such good manners as his on any other person."

_If only they knew_, Elizabeth thought to herself wrathfully.

"And educated. And prominent! I still can't believe that he isn't even engaged to anyone yet," Victoria added in. "What with being 'Lord' now, and Chairman of the Company, as well..."

_Probably because he's too heartless to love anyone besides himself_, Elizabeth thought harshly. "He can come off as a little arrogant, at times," she said shortly.

The girls giggled. "Well, he's practically _privileged_ to be a little conceited, don't you think? He's so rich, and powerful, and _charming_...!"

Elizabeth bit her lip. This had to be the _oddest_ conversation she'd ever had. They clearly didn't know Beckett. Or, at least, the _real_ Beckett. Yes, he could act like a pleasant little lord, but she knew he really wasn't that at all. If he was "intellectual," it was only to be sarcastic. If he was "charming," it was only to gain your favor. If he was "gentlemanly," it was only to earn your trust.

Oh, how dearly she wished to correct their false views of him! Yet Elizabeth knew that Harriet and Victoria would be quick to deny her. She just smiled and carried on the conversation as casually as she possibly could, but she listened more than she talked, finding their conversation more interesting without her input.

"Not to mention, my parents are trying to get the Lord Beckett to court me!" Victoria said excitedly.

_Good luck with that_, Elizabeth thought to herself spitefully.

Just as she was about to make a response to that, though, her open mouth dropped even further. She'd thought she was safe at this little courtyard, but apparently not!

"Good morning, Ms. Lark, Ms. June," said Beckett's voice, oddly pleasant. He walked over, hands behind his back, fingers knotted together. By his side was that cretin—Derrick Parker, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

Victoria giggled and fanned herself profusely at the fact that Beckett had addressed her first. Harriet shot her an acid glare.

"Oh, Lord Beckett! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you this fine Wednesday morning?" Harriet wheedled.

Beckett smiled wryly. Elizabeth blinked. That same conceited smirk, but in a different context, seemed so friendly and inviting, rather than condescending and arrogant. "I came here to evaluate Ms. Swann's condition. This is her first day out after being bedridden for so long, and I worry for her condition. She _has_ gone through some emotional trauma due to her encounters with pirates. I hope you understand," he replied good-naturedly.

Victoria turned to Elizabeth with an impish expression. Elizabeth flushed and tapped her lightly with her fan. "It's nothing like that!" she hissed in a low voice. Then she turned back to Beckett, and smiled shyly. "U-uhm. I'm fine, Lord Beckett. You... you needn't worry yourself with me." Beckett gave a slight, curt nod.

A sinking feeling filled her chest. She had made a grave error, she realized. Earlier this morning, Elizabeth had escaped from her watching guard to meet with her friends without feeling invaded. Well, apparently that hadn't escaped Beckett, and so he'd obviously come to see her. Well, at least she wasn't trying to _escape_. But he'd still be very upset with her. She shot him a stare, to see if he was angry enough to have it in his cold blue eyes. But his act was so damn _perfect_ that he looked completely normal, pleasant, complacent. Three things that should never even _cross_ his face had defined him. And it was odd. Yet strangely _good_. She kind of liked it. _No! No, no, NO! Banish the thought!_ Elizabeth thought to herself forcibly, barely suppressing a sickened shudder.

"It's quite alright, Ms. Swann," said Beckett nicely, still going along with his stupid facade. "I was merely worried. That's all."

The girls hooted and snickered. Derrick rolled his eyes. "What's with the propriety between you two all'a sudden? I thought you guys hated each other. Du'n get along at all, I thought."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to roll eyes. Of _course_ that nincompoop Derrick wouldn't catch on to her game with Beckett. Or maybe he _had_ caught on, and was just trying to be disruptive. "Oh, Mr. Parker. You misunderstand. I'm so very grateful for the Lord Beckett's hospitality," Elizabeth said between her teeth.

Victoria grinned. "Lord Beckett, who _is_ this man you've brought along with you? I'm quite curious to know!"

"Ah," said Beckett, his eyes widening just a slight. He had made a slip-up in his act, Elizabeth realized triumphantly. Although the Lord's expressions hardly changed, she had been with him and studied him long enough to know the subtle differences—how his brow slightly scrunched when he was aggravated, or how his eyes just barely widened when surprised or incredulous. How his voice lowered and became quiet when he wanted to tempt you, or how he raised his voice when he was upset, but never screamed or shouted. "My apologies for not formally introducing him sooner," Beckett continued. "This is Mr. Derrick Parker. My faithful employee within the Company."

"...'Allo," Derrick muttered, suddenly feeling rather stupid for being so brash, earlier.

The two girls giggled again. "He's much improper, but I won't doubt that he's such a handsome fellow," Harriet whispered.

Elizabeth blushed again. Complete misjudgment of character again, those two...! Steering away from the subject desperately, she said, "Lord Beckett, where do you head now? Surely you did not intend to merely find me in this courtyard."

Beckett's lips pursed. "I'm to see the state of the fleet. Supposedly, everything is all ready and prepared, although I rather doubt it, considering the failure of my men as of late." Realizing how clipped he had been, he added in a lighter tone, "I only intend to verify their claims." Months of being around only his employees and officers had left his acting skills rather dulled; he did not need to seem cultured and humble around _those_ ingrates. He would need a bit more practice, he realized. How annoying!

Elizabeth nodded, though she did not notice Beckett's slip-up in acting. She was so used to that tone of his that it hardly even registered anymore. "And... that's why Mr. Parker was with you."

Derrick snorted. "Anyway, the Lord Beckett and I ought to get going. We'll see you _lovely_ ladies later." The word _lovely_ rolled off his tongue so oddly, as if he were drunken. The two men then turned, heading off towards the pier.

Victoria snickered once they were gone. "Oh, Elizabeth! Couldn't you see the concern in the Lord Beckett's eyes? I don't doubt that he eventually intends to court you!"

"Oh...!" Elizabeth flushed. Damn that Beckett for making all this mess seem so _bloody_ intimate!

"Fancy that! Imagine: Lady Elizabeth Beckett. Doesn't sound too poor, now does it?" Harriet said with a grin. Then a fantasied look sparkled in her eyes. "Though I much prefer myself by his side."

"Oh, you two! Don't be silly! He's... simply being charitable. I doubt he's interested in me," Elizabeth retorted. "What's there of me that _he_ would favor, anyway?"

'Well..." the two of them drawled, drawing out the word as long as they possibly could. Elizabeth held her breath; she knew that they were just about to recite a massive list.

"You're beautiful, intelligent, polite, and lovely—"

"Jolly good fun, _real_ inspirational, a great conversationalist—"

"Oh, stop it, you two!" Elizabeth said, cutting off Harriet. She looked down at her feet, fanning herself heavily. Was she blushing because she didn't want to admit something, or...? _No_! That was just disgusting! The idea of her liking Beckett repulsed her so much that she ought to throw up over the rail. "It... it's not true. Really!"

The girls were quiet, surprised at Elizabeth's intense _modesty_. (They clearly knew nothing about her. Nor about anyone. Horrible character judges, those two.) Then Victoria said a little awkwardly, "Um, we ought to get home, now, Elizabeth. It's already past noon! Oh, how _quickly_ time flies by!" Harriet and Victoria briskly left the courtyard, heading towards their homes.

Elizabeth stood there for a few minutes, unable to muster up proper words—though she was the only one who would ever even hear them. Sighing, defeated, she headed back towards the estate.

* * *

"Ms. Swann. Permit me to ask just _why_ you felt it necessary to abandon your watch-guard in order to merely meet with your acquaintances?" Beckett interrogated icily. "Or were their ulterior motives on your part... until I intervened?"

Elizabeth quietly nibbled at the chicken. Yet another awkward, quiet dinner, though the last few days had not been too awful—they had managed to strike up decent conversations, and she had seen a more pleasant side of Beckett, though there was so much _Beckett_ that it was still _Beckett_ to her, and in the end, she had a bad taste in her mouth, no matter how good the pot roast was. Still, it seemed that today's dinner would not be as pleasant.

Beckett, realizing he wouldn't get an answer, lowered his voice to a threatening level. "I have been graciously taking care of you, Ms. Swann. And I expect some gratitude in return for my... _charity_. Now, _what were you planning_?" he said acidly, annunciating each word placidly as he always did when irritated. Not a single syllable skipped, each consonant pronounced perfectly, yet no word lingered upon for too long. A breezy style of speaking, yet slow enough to leave impressions on one's mind.

She put down her fork. "What are _you_ planning, acting all _sweet_ in public? We both know your true nature," she responded indignantly.

Beckett put down his wine glass. "It's all a matter of propriety, Ms. Swann. See, unlike _you_, I know well the expectations of the commonwealth society. Acting _mannered_ and _generous_ in public is just... _good business_." He paused, and then said, "And as Chairman of the Company, I have a public image that I must uphold."

Elizabeth looked down at her plate after he was done speaking. For some reason, he always made her feel childish and irrational.

"And now that I have addressed _your_ inquiry," Beckett droned on lazily, "I would like an answer to _mine_."

"Well," Elizabeth stammered, and then corrected her verbal blunder. "...I wasn't planning on doing anything, if that's what you're insinuating. Truly. I just appreciate privacy, that's all. And I highly dislike the idea of your men stalking me around everywhere like my dogged shadow."

Beckett paused, considering her words. "Hm" was his only reply. He then resumed his dainty eating. All mannered and silent.

Elizabeth ate like a savage. And enjoyed it.

* * *

The dinghy slowly, sluggishly made its way to the docks. People stared, watched, but Captain Teague—oh, sorry, _Mister Griffiths_ hardly minded the attention. It had been years since he'd dared venture too far from Shipwreck Cove, but circumstances had changed. His life's safety had never been compromised this far. Yet he wasn't scared. He'd been through it all. And just like that, he always came out top dog. And he'd always have extra room to spare for Jackie.

Stepping onto the docks, he began to head off to Port Royal, but a man stopped him. "Hold on, sir. It's one shilling and a name to tie ship here."

Teague turned and looked at his dinghy. A large hole had been punched into the sail, and it was a little tilted, but a "ship" nonetheless. Turning to the man, he pulled out a single shilling and said gruffly, "John Griffiths."

The man nodded, writing down the name. "Very well then, Mr. Griffiths. Welcome to Port Royal."

Teague tipped his cap and strolled on down the streets. Donning some wine-colored clothes, he looked quite normal, if not for his stand-out skin color and offish hair (including the beard/dreadlocks set). He made his way through the bustling roads; already the streets had recovered from Beckett's tyranny. Despite his mass hanging earlier in the months, the people had eventually figured out that if you had nothing to do with piracy at all, he didn't bother you. And anyway, after the song had been sung and all that, Beckett didn't see much a point to be wasting time fetching would-be pirates anymore. Overall, Port Royal was back to normal. And Beckett was just another classy little British lord.

But Teague never really was one for "normal."

He careened through the alleyways and briskly headed towards the docks where he knew the EITC's fleet was sitting around. He had to see it for himself. The _Pearl_, he meant. He had heard from the pirates that the _Endeavour_ had not completely torn down the _Pearl_, instead choosing to spare it. And most likely have it for later use.

Teague turned one last corner before his eyes feasted upon the massive oceans. His brows furrowed together as he saw the massive fleet in its glory—and the _Black Pearl_.

It was beautiful. Never before had Teague seen a ship so hauntingly gorgeous. They had replaced her torn sails, but kept the trademark black hue. The hull was gilded with pearly silver, and the cannons were neatly polished. The figurehead—a woman (a wicked wench, actually)—had been cleaned and re-painted into something that was far less rusted and grimy. It was still the _Black Pearl_. But it was also the HMS _Pearl_—a fresh-off-the-line Company ship. Royal, rich, ravish. And yet so _rogue_. It stood out from the other ships, despite its dark color. The silver complimented it nicely; a nice change from the selection of golds and blues in the Company and Navy ships.

Teague tore his eyes from it. He couldn't just stand there and stare. Just as he veered to the left to exit the docks, two soldiers came running up in his path.

"This dock is off-limits to civilians," said Murtogg and Mullroy nervously.

* * *

A/N: And our favorite clowns make a reappearance. XD Anyway, I was so sorry about the slow update last time that I decided to make this one abnormally quick-quick! I'm sorry we still haven't embarked yet... I promise it will be soon? Ah, well. I have to be patient! Beckett would yell at me if he saw me so impatient and giddy. 8D Anyways, I hope my depiction of Teague is alright with you all. He's always been this really cool character to me (the fact that he is Keith Richards aside, please), and I wanted to give him a more prominent role in this story as... _John Griffiths_. Yeah, kill me, I'm bad at coming up with names.

Next chapter, I'm positive we're going to embark. I know we will. You've all permission to virtually punch me if we don't. Anyways, drop a review! And thanks so much for reading!


	8. Embark

A/N: Ahhh! Huge thank-you to all of my reviewers: **ninjalover13**, **amymimi**, **SunAndMoon16**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, **Mistress Beckett**, and **Rhinoceros**. This chapter is—yes—the beginning of the voyage.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: I'll think of something later.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Embark.**

"Rise and shine, Ms. Swann! 'Tis a bright day out and you must be on your way!" said a maid cheerfully as she opened the window-drapes, flooding the room with light.

Elizabeth groaned, digging her face into her pillow. The maid practically dragged her out of bed and forced her into her clothes. She complied like a limp rag doll; too tired to resist. And besides, she didn't hate the maid enough to be difficult. Beckett was the one she hated.

"Good morning, Ms. Swann," said Beckett pleasantly as Elizabeth walked out onto the terrace, where she was forced to eat breakfast with him.

"Good morning, Lord Beckett," Elizabeth responded half-heartedly, seating herself across from him. She looked at the array of food. Cold cuts on toast. Croissants. Her mouth watered. It'd be the last grand meal until the trip, and she knew it. She ate voraciously.

"I hope you are ready for our trip?" Beckett said conversationally as he stirred a sugar cube into his tea.

Elizabeth almost opened her mouth to reply, but then remembered that it was bad manners to speak with a full mouth. Her cheeks were stuffed with an explosion of flavor. She nodded wordlessly instead.

He seemed pleased, evident in his almost-smile. Elizabeth knew nearly all of his nondescript facial expressions by now. "You've not seen our ship yet," he asked in the tone of a statement.

Elizabeth swallowed her mouthful. "Yes, I have," she replied incredulously. "I did go head-to-head with it during the War Against Piracy."

Beckett snorted softly. "The HMS _Endeavour_ is not our ship of choice," he said quietly. "Judging by your lack of even _this_ base knowledge, I take you've no idea the ship we are to board."

She blinked. "If not the _Endeavour_, then what?"

"In due time, Ms. Swann," he responded enigmatically as usual.

She rolled her eyes. "How long do you estimate this trip will take?"

"If you give us the proper bearings, I estimate little less than a year," Beckett answered. "And if the Brethren choose direct confrontation, I estimate two months."

Elizabeth smirked. "So you think you have more than enough power to overcome them. But you can't possibly chase them around?"

"Quite," he replied. "And that is overestimating. I make a habit of never underestimating the opponent. Such arrogance can fell even mighty empires."

"Hmph," she said as she finished the last of her toast. She still thought him arrogant, no matter what he said. "Does anyone else know that I'm to be on board?"

Beckett paused. "Yes," he said, and then added," And your role is also known. As a hostage of the pirates, you've attained vital information as to the Brethren Court."

"So I'm not the Pirate King, then. Just a hostage who knows too much," Elizabeth said stiffly.

Beckett sipped his tea. "Indeed," he replied in a clipped tone. "Step out from that boundary in even the slightest, and your '_friends_' will be punished appropriately."

She bit her lip. "Those are rather extreme conditions, my Lord."

He sneered. "Switching to my title at this point is meaningless, Ms. Swann. I believe you know that flattery will get you nowhere with me."

She sighed, choosing to continue eating wordlessly. He always had to make things so difficult. Or was she the source of difficulty, she wondered? Waving off the thought, she finished her meal, excused herself, got up, and left.

* * *

Elizabeth climbed out of the carriage, trying to be as graceful as possible, if only not to look like a fool to Beckett, who was already out and waiting for her. With a rather testy glare, she finally got the last of her skirts out and stepped onto the boardwalk.

"Where is it?" she demanded.

Beckett maneuvered his gaze to look upon the large, black ship parked not far away. "She's over there, Ms. Swann. You'll find her rather nostalgic, if I don't say so myself."

Elizabeth squinted, but the ship didn't remind her of any navy ships she knew. The black color was odd, she thought to herself. Britain doesn't paint its ships black. And it doesn't use black sails, either—_oh_.

Her heart sunk and fluttered at the same time. "Is that… is that the _Pearl_?" she said.

Beckett did not reply. Instead, he merely said, "Come. There's not much time to be wasting." He briskly began to walk towards the ship.

"Oh, wait!" Elizabeth said breathlessly and came after him, quickly trouncing up the plank onto the deck. Her eyes looked around, marveling at the deep, dark wood. Yes, it was the _Black Pearl_. Gilded with silver, refurbished, polished, no longer a pirate's ship, yes. But still the _Pearl_. She wondered if Jack knew.

Turning to Beckett, she said, "So _this_ is the ship we are to be boarding."

A curt nod in response. "Mr. Parker, here, will show you to your quarters."

Derrick sighed and walked over to Elizabeth. He didn't look nearly as flushed as he did when he had come to visit her in the courtyard. Perhaps he'd been a little drunk, then. She almost giggled at the thought. "Alright, _Ms. Swann_, just follow me, then." The two of them made their way into the bridge, in a rather warm, cozy room. It wasn't too small, but it certainly was not very large. A petite bed and a mirror had already been set up, along with a few tables and a miniature bookshelf. Elizabeth flushed at the bookshelf. Had Beckett himself arranged for it, or did it come in all rooms?

"And that's it," Derrick said as two soldiers dragged Elizabeth's things into the room. She had packed them neatly into the large bag; most of it was clothes. Once the guards left, though, he abruptly turned to her.

She instinctively stepped back. He was dangerous. She didn't trust him.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you and Beckett are planning," Derrick said in a low voice. "But I know it's nothing good."

She narrowed her eyes. "You'll find that I am trying my best to _not_ be involved in any of _his_ plans, thank you very much."

He smirked. "Really? It seems to me that the two of you are actually consorts."

She shook her head, astonished. "No! Of course not. We're nothing of the sort."

With a shrug and a look that implied he didn't believe her, he said curtly, "If you say so, _Ms. Swann_." Turning, he left her room.

Elizabeth slammed the door shut behind him. How… annoying!

* * *

Teague sighed, giving the two of them a good look. They stood tall and erect and nervous, their rifles hoisted up in their hands and their eyes wide with fear.

"Really," he said dryly.

Murtogg and Mullroy nodded profusely. "The Lord Beckett strictly said that this dock must remain closed off."

Teague looked to the _Pearl_. "Did he," he said, squinting. He could barely make out Elizabeth Swann going below-deck with that Parker boy.

"Yes. I swear he did," Murtogg said.

"Or was it that Parker guy who said it?" Mullroy argued.

Murtogg turned to his cohort. "No, I swear it was the Lord Beckett who said it."

"According to _my_ memory, it was Parker. And we don't take orders from Parker."

"It was _not_ Parker."

"Oh really. Then do tell me the appearance of the guy who told you to do this."

"Well, he was wearing some mighty fancy clothing."

"So you're telling me you saw a short little fellow with a white wig?"

"Well..."

Teague watched the two of them barter back and forth. Rolling his eyes, he quickly strode past the two of them, beginning to sneak towards the _Pearl_.

The two of them, having resolved their argument with the verdict that it had been Parker, turned back to the spot that Teague had previously occupied. "And that," Mullroy said triumphantly, and then faltered. "...Where did he go?"

Murtogg whacked Mullroy on the back of the head. "It's your fault we lost the guy!"

"'Tis not!"

"Yes it is!"

...Teague could barely make out their voices by this point as he crept onto the _Pearl_. He quickly made his way into the hold, and then squeezed himself between some crates. Sighing, he settled into the wood and waited.

* * *

The needle spun in circles, around and around and around, before finally settling on one point. Beckett looked up from the compass and stared out the window, his eyes following the direction of the needle. Then he muttered under his breath, "Bloody thing doesn't even work." He snapped it shut and turned away from the large window, pacing around his office, straightening out papers and objects as he walked. So much for his bargain with Jack, he thought to himself disdainfully. What was the point of a compass that neither pointed north nor knew what you truly wanted? Nor had the sense to even discern what means would truly help you achieve your goals? Oh, he wanted to break the damn mechanism into pieces. But he knew it would be useful later. And breaking things in rage—well, that was just barbaric. And Cutler Beckett liked to think of himself as far from barbaric as possible.

He put the compass back down onto his desk, softly and gently, like how he handled everything. Sighing, he headed out of his office and went up onto deck, where his men were still straightening things out, preparing for the long voyage. He did not even bother to hide his annoyance.

"Commodore Groves," Beckett said loudly.

The newly-appointed Commodore rushed over, trying to straighten himself out before Beckett could see him. "Yes, sir?" he said quickly.

Beckett began adjusting the button of his cuff. "How soon can we be prepared to leave?"

"Soon, sir. Very soon. It's just that Mr. Parker wanted extra things to be packed. He anticipates trouble, sir," Groves responded.

"Hm," said Beckett. "I see. Very well, then. Make it quick, please. And where might Mr. Parker be found at the moment?"

"Right here, Lord Beckett," said Derrick as he strolled over from the bridge.

"Ah." Beckett turned to face his right-hand man. _If only this one were as loyal as Mercer,_ he thought to himself disdainfully. _He may have proficient skill, but he makes a blunder on his emotional principle._ "I trust you successfully found your way to Ms. Swann's quarters?"

Derrick looked insulted. "Do you think I'm incapable of even a fool's task like that?"

Beckett smirked, looking down at his sleeve again. "Perhaps so," he said softly. Raising his voice again, loud enough to hear, he said, "Pray tell why you requested extra provisions, Mr. Parker?"

"I've a bad feeling about this trip," Derrick said numbly. "Almost as if there's an ominous air to it. I don't like it. We ought to bring as many things as we can. Just to be safe."

_Curious_, Beckett thought to himself, but commented nothing aloud. "Fine. You'd best be on your way, then, Mr. Parker. I'd like for the fleet to leave as soon as possible."

Derrick nodded and headed off. Beckett sighed, pacing around the deck again. He was impatient and annoyed. How could this possibly take so long? He wanted to leave Port Royal _now_. And he wanted the pirates gone _now_. The wait was agonizing and unbearable. And everyone seemed to be his enemy at this point.

What had he done to cultivate so many enemies? The pirates were his enemies, yes, that was true. The people he had manipulated, yes, they would hate him, that was reasonable. Yet it seemed now that everything was against him. Time, the seas, the skies, everything. Were they trying to warn him of something? But surely God's will would be with him. They were pirates. Filthy, disgusting, and greedy. It was not only good business to rid the seas of them, but also charitable. Consider some hundreds of small villages saved for every pirate ship sunk.

So why, then, that ominous feeling?

* * *

The ship lurched and began to move. Jack grabbed onto the bars of his cell as the _Endeavour_ sailed forward, then slowed to a more steady pace. "Mr. Gibbs!" Jack exclaimed.

"Aye, Jack?" said Gibbs's voice through the next cell over.

"Have you any extra rum to spare?" asked Jack in his silky voice.

Some shuffling. Gibbs's voice rang out clear: "That be a 'no'."

Jack looked dismayed.

"Jack," drawled Barbossa. "There be better things to desire than a drink at this point. Such as a means of escapin' this prison."

All the guards had left the brig in favor of working up on deck, and so the three pirates had been left alone. Still, the guards supposed that it didn't matter; escaping the brig meant getting onto the guard-infested deck.

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched. "I don't really think there's any way we can get off this ship anyway."

"Aye," said Gibbs. "My mind's in with Jack. This place is a soddy hell-hole if I e'er laid me eyes upon one."

Barbossa grunted a slight. He knew this to be true, but he certainly did not want to stay here any longer. He shouldn't be caged like this. And neither should Jack. "What can we offer Beckett in returns fer our freedom? Surely with Ms. Turner, he's not be needin' any one o'us," Barbossa grumbled.

"Right y'are there," Gibbs responded. "Ms. Swann's probably got more information in that head o'hers than us. And easier t'coax, too."

"What d'you mean, easier to coax?" Jack said disbelievingly. Gibbs didn't seriously think that Beckett would actually—?

Barbossa laughed sardonically. "Aye, that be true, Gibbs. I ne'er seen an easier soul t'sway since I laid me eyes upon her."

Jack narrowed his eyes, but also bent backwards. "Twaddle-speak," he exclaimed. "Lizzy isn't _that_ easy."

But deep inside, though, he rather doubted it.

* * *

A/N: Alright! Finally! The voyage! I can't wait for all the twist(s) I have planned later on (what plans?). Thanks so much to all my reviewers again. You guys are the stars in my sky and the bubbles in my bubble-bath! Oh wait… that's just creepy. oAo; I also realize that I really enjoy writing from Beckett's perspective. Then again, I've always found villains more fun to write.


	9. Castaway

A/N: Since before the story's been going so slowly before, I hope that now, with the voyage, I'm not rushing things. Celebration parties for my reviewers: **Mistress Beckett**, **SunAndMoon16**, **Miss Cuttlefish**, **Rhinoceros**, **Amymimi**, **ninjalover13**, and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett** (you know, I honestly keep typo'ing that as "La**z**y Eli**d**abeth Beckett"...). Oh, there's also going to be quite a bit more action in this chapter. Hope you don't mind it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: Some violence and a bit of swearing as usual. Though neither should concern unless you're afraid of violence, in which case I wonder why you like PotC.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Castaway.**

Gentleman Jocard was many things, but a coward was not one of them. Yes, he was a former slave. Yes, he could be quite conceited. And violent, too. But no, he was not some half-wit, _lawful_ commoner. He respected Teague, if only grudgingly, but just like that, Teague's words were not absolute.

So Jocard took to sailing his ships around in the open seas, instead. Taunting Cutler Beckett. Because really, there was no way in hell that the miniature Lord would beat him, so why should he even worry?

Anyway, it wasn't long before Beckett had found Jocard indeed.

"Gentleman Jocard!" one of his men exclaimed. "We have spotted the EITC fleet."

He took out his spyglass and stared out, spotting one of the ships. His lip curled.

"Seems so," Jocard muttered. "Adjust course!" He shouted. "Surround them and take down those fools _immediately_! Cut out their tongues!"

* * *

"Lord Beckett! The pirates are in sight," reported Groves as he dashed over.

Beckett put down his teacup. Having tea—even before a grand battle with the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean—was simply just his _style_. Never mind what other people thought of his habits. "So it would seem," he said smoothly. So Ms. Swann's advice was correct, then. Good. Yes, it had taken weeks to find just the first Pirate Lord, but, at least they'd found one. Perhaps he shouldn't be so harsh on her anymore.

He noted the opposing fleets' maneuvers—obviously intending for battle. Pity. Beckett inherently preferred negotiations. He'd sooner bargain his way out of a scuffle than mow his enemies down with cannonade and cutlass. Violence was a blunt tool, indiscriminate and blundering; words were careful scalpels, picking things apart from the inside-out.

"Full canvas," said Beckett to Groves. "Ready the cannons. Port to starboard." Groves nodded, relaying the order in shouted commands. "Signal the rest of the fleet to give no quarter. I intend to leave nothing behind in my path but lifeless bodies and wrecked ships," Beckett added in a clipped tone.

He then headed below-deck to the gallery, leisurely making his way to Elizabeth's quarters. Knocking lightly, he said, "Ms. Swann?"

Elizabeth grumbled. She was splayed out on the bed, reading one of the books she'd grabbed from the shelf, immersed in the epic poetry. "It's open," she snapped.

Beckett sighed, impatient with her rudeness, and opened up the door, stepping inside. He knotted his fingers behind his back and gazed at her lazy, informal position. _How unbecoming_, he thought to himself distastefully. "We are currently engaging in battle with Gentleman Jocard," he informed her boredly. "You'd best keep safe during the exchange. I cannot have you injured."

"_I cannot have you injured."_ If it were coming from any other man's mouth, Elizabeth might have thought the statement remotely romantic. But no, it was from Beckett, and that meant that he just didn't want to lose his valuable tool. "I can fight," she said indignantly.

"You," said Beckett icily, "will keep yourself out of danger in the duration of this trip." Before she had any time to argue, he had turned and left.

Elizabeth grunted and slammed the book shut, now no longer in the mood for _Paradise Lost_. She then reached for her nightstand and stuffed her favorite book—_My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates_—into her dress folds, keeping it close. It was odd, she knew, but the book had become something dear to her. Besides, just the notion of Jocard's men bursting into her room and tearing through the poor, old novel repulsed her. No, no. It deserved a much better fate, even if it _was_ Beckett's book.

Then she headed up onto the deck. The battle had just begun, it seemed. Cannonballs flew about and Jocard's men had boarded the ship. Swords flashed and pistols fired. Elizabeth picked up the blade of one of the fallen men, making her way into the scuffle with ferocity. She was technically one of Beckett's men now (unwilling she may be), and so she fought like one. (She'd never liked Jocard, anyway.) Never mind their cries of "traitor." She was saving Jack! That was justification enough. Wasn't it?

She hacked through one of the men, trying not to look at his face, trying not to wonder if he had a family back at home, if he was a father with a beloved daughter, who would miss him so dearly to hear of his death. Her heart panged, but she steeled it. She did not need her soft soul now. She needed a warrior's heart.

Something touched her back and she turned, tensed—then relieved when she saw it was merely Groves, overcome by a large amount of pirates.

"They might not be the most skilled," Groves shouted over the fray, "but there's an awful lot of them!"

Elizabeth could only nod in response; no time to speak. She felt her arms growing tired and sore, and hoped it was almost over—just as she did, though, a new wave of the pirates poured onto the _Pearl_. She groaned and continued slashing, cutting, stabbing. The sword tore through flesh, making fresh wounds upon skin. She did not need to think of the spilling blood and agonizing pain. She did not need to sympathize.

Just as she ripped the sword out of another man's abdomen, somebody stole into her sight, swiftly kicking her in the shin. Not expecting this, she yelped in pain, and during her slight moment of hesitation, he landed another swift blow to her side. Dropping the sword, Elizabeth keeled over a bit, about to regain her senses when suddenly something clubbed her on the back of the head. Hard. Black dots sprayed her vision, and then she slumped over.

* * *

Beckett had hoped to stay safely on the _Pearl_ and do absolutely nothing except witness the chaos before him. After all, he did not like fighting nor violence. (Or at least, he didn't like to be directly _involved_ in it.)

Still, Jocard had an unexpectedly large amount of amateur forces. In a battle like this, though, where it was power or nothing, the experience of men was hardly relevant. Perhaps Jocard was well-prepared this time, unlike that pitiful fleet Beckett had witnessed before right after closing in on Shipwreck Cove.

He stood up on the quarterdeck, where no one else was, partially because you had to go up stairs to get on it and partially because the stairs were guarded. He stared down at the brawl below nonchalantly, thinking little of it, though taking cautious count of how much forces he had remaining. Not much.

His eyes wandered to his other ships. Odd, they were doing alright. Perhaps Jocard had concentrated all forces on the _Pearl_. Did he know that Beckett was on the ship, or was Jocard just another selfish pirate who wanted the _Pearl_ for himself? Well, nevermind that. The important fact was that Beckett's forces on the _Pearl_ were being overwhelmed and required external assistance from the rest of the fleet.

Then Beckett's eyes blinked as he saw Elizabeth fall onto the ground in a heap. He grew slightly worried. Though he wasn't entirely sure whether he was worried for Elizabeth herself, or merely the fact that her loss would mean his plans being jeopardized.

He started down the steps, instinctively coming over to her. The words "Ms. Swann" were ready in his throat, about to roll off his tongue in the usual lazy manner, but then Gentleman Jocard himself stepped in the way.

"Cutler Beckett," Jocard snarled. "There you are, you filthy slime-ball."

Beckett almost rolled his eyes, but that was not a habit he took to. But why should he even take insult from someone so far below him? Instead, he decided to brush off the remark. "Gentleman Jocard," he said coolly, tipping his head, not intending to look as hotheaded as his inferior. His eyes surveyed the surrounding area, noting how Jocard's men had gathered in a circle around the two of them, and that his own men were on the floor, groveling. How annoying.

Jocard readied his odd, bone-hook weapon. Beckett couldn't even fathom what it was supposed to be, nor did he want to know to which animal that bone had previously affixed itself. "You will be dead," the Pirate Lord growled. "And I'll cut out your tongue." Vengeance flashed in his eyes. "You enslaved me and my brothers, and you will pay."

Beckett chose not to respond to the barbaric comment, nor the vengeful one. Instead, he knelt and took the sword of one of his fallen men, observing the blade, feeling its steadiness in his palm. It was alright, but not nearly as impressive as Norrington's ceremonial sword, which he had handled earlier. _That_ had been a true gem. _Hm,_ Beckett thought to himself placidly, _perhaps Mr. Turner _did_ have his uses. It's quite a shame that that particular blade found itself under Davy Jones's ownership._

Jocard smirked. "You will know better than to fight me, _midget_," he taunted.

But Beckett wasn't really listening. He was paying more attention to watching Jocard's stature—obviously, not a learned man. A pirate. Not a duelist. Pirates cheated. Kicked and punched and used all sorts of other means of attacks that were not allowed in a duel. Beckett was a duelist. Well, not always the most earnest duelist, but then again, how was one supposed to succeed without a little fib here and there?

Jocard grinned. He lunged forward, a bold and quick move that expected a powerful blow. Beckett swerved to the side, swiftly dodging, observing the way Jocard's muscles tensed and his body reared back just before going forward, the way he stepped in with his right foot first and then finished off his lunge with a slight swerve in his heel.

Beckett did not make any move too revealing, though he rather doubted that Jocard was even watching. Most people did not pay attention to their opponents' faults and habits; that, he supposed, was why they always lost. He started slowly stepping back, still observant, careful not to back into the crowd ring around them. Jocard sneered and charged, waving his silly bone-hook thing. He made for a strike again—

But Beckett saw this one coming. The rearing, tensed muscles just before the hit. He weaved out of the way and made for a quick slice across Jocard's rather exposed chest. The smelly pirate stumbled back, staggering. The previously-hooting crowd turned quiet. And then Beckett, unable to draw this out any longer, swiftly lunged, slipping the blade into the enemy's breast.

Jocard's expression was unfathomable as the sudden pain hit him. A mix between burning hatred and frozen shock. "You..." Jocard spat, struggling for words, but only blood dribbled down his chin.

Beckett stared passively as the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean fell to the ground. Dead.

The pirates were quiet, silent as the grave. But then their silence was broken by wild riot. "You killed the captain!" "The Pirate Lord!" "Jocard can't be dead!" "Kill Beckett!" "Cut out his tongue!" came the shouts.

Beckett sighed. He left the sword in Jocard's body, instead kneeling down by Elizabeth. "Ms. Swann," he said in a voice that lacked urgency, "it is imperative that you wake up in this instant."

Elizabeth, however, did not stir.

Beckett let out a breathy "_Damn_," barely audible. He knew he was in trouble. He had slain Jocard, but that had only riled the pirates further. He knew he should have sent Parker to do this. Speaking of Parker, where _was_ that useless ingrate?

But just as he was about to get up again, an uncomfortable, notched cutlass pressed against his throat. "We'll toss him," said Jocard's first mate between his teeth.

* * *

Beckett stood on the plank, unable to suppress a brief chuckle. He knew he should have called for help, instead of going out there and recklessly fighting the Pirate Lord. Still, the danger had been imminent... oh, bother.

The rabble of pirates had looks of steely rage in them as they jabbed blades at him. Beckett pursed his lips. "I believe you pirates grant a single pistol when carelessly dumping your captives," he said in a clipped tone.

Jocard's first mate grunted and gestured with his head. Somebody handed him a pistol with a single shot, which he handed off to Beckett. "Now jump," he snarled.

"What of Ms. Swann? She is unconscious," said Beckett as he took the gun.

The first mate scowled. "She's unconscious, and Jocard is dead." He paused. "We're dumping the traitorous wench, too."

Beckett's lip curled. _Scoundrel._ He strolled to the edge of the plank. And then dove.

The water was a cold splash at first, but the longer he stayed in it, the warmer it became to his adjusting flesh. After pummeling down a few feet into the ocean, it wasn't long before Elizabeth tumbled down after him. He took hold of her and swam his way to the nearby island. He was thankful that water made her lighter in the sea, but once they were on land, water made her heavy, and he cursed it.

Stepping out onto the sand, Beckett dropped Elizabeth and surveyed the island. It had a thick jungle in the center, but there was also a faint scent of commerce. Jocard's first mate was a fool. There was population on the other side. He could sense it.

Elizabeth began to shiver. Beckett turned to her and picked her back up, walking farther from shore, closer to the entrance of the jungle. He propped her up against a palm tree, then took off his frock coat and blanketed her with it. Never mind that it was drenched; it would have to do.

Elizabeth, he realized, was the last Pirate Lord in his possession. Sparrow and Barbossa might as well be dead. Actually, no. Sparrow and Barbossa were probably freed now, no thanks to Jocard's crew, which was even worse than them being dead. How annoying.

Fine. Beckett was used to starting from the bottom-up. He'd have to return to Port Royal. Gather sufficient forces. Kill Jocard's crew for spite. Then use Elizabeth Swann to get the rest of the pesky Court. But then a sudden fact slapped Beckett straight in the face.

With Sparrow gone, he no longer had any leverage against Ms. Swann.

... Oh God.

* * *

Teague was stirred when he heard an awful commotion up on the deck. He'd been stowed away for weeks, but it didn't bother him. He was waiting for the opportune moment. And besides, the food was good, the port was good—he had nothing to complain about.

But it was odd, the commotion. Usually everything on Beckett's ship was uptight, silent, and proper. Teague slowly rose to his feet and started towards the exit, pressing his hear upon the door. He heard Jocard's booming voice. Then Beckett's, a gentle murmur. And then a loud ruckus. Talking. Threats. And then a splash. Another splash. Laughing. Celebration.

Curiosity stricken, Teague headed up onto the deck, bursting into the light, onto the open air, after being cooped up for so long. Jocard's first mate turned to him, as did everyone else.

"Glad you listened to me," Teague grunted sarcastically. Then he noticed the dead Jocard on the ground. "That's interesting," he muttered, and then looked at the other EITC ships. The rest of the fleet was approaching quickly, trying to reclaim the _Pearl_ from pirates. Then he turned to the first mate. "What's your name, lad?"

"Amadi," he huffed back in reply.

Teague bobbed his head as a nod. "Bets keep out of the way of the EITC. Let's sail out o'here, mate."

Amadi hesitated. "The _Pearl_?"

"You lost men and only have enough to pilot one ship," said Teague. "Give up on the _Pearl_. Get back to your own ship. As long as you have the _Pearl_, you'll be a target."

The men appeared dismayed. Though they headed back to the _Ranger_ anyway. Teague followed, his gaze dismal.

_Where's Jackie?_ he wondered.

* * *

Beckett watched as his own ships reclaimed the _Pearl_ and then—turned and left. Without even looking for him!

What in the blazes? Had they forgotten proper protocol?

He blamed this blunder on Parker. He was annoyed, but decided to voice nothing. And anyway, no one would be able to hear his complaints. Instead, he looked back to the unconscious Ms. Swann. He pondered on how long she would be out, but it didn't particularly bother him. He liked her better quiet.

He knew there was a town not far off, but he couldn't fathom just how far. And he didn't want people to recognize him. No, he'd have to properly disguise himself, too, were he to venture there.

First, Beckett removed his wig. Dark brown curls fell to his shoulders. He unraveled the ribbon from his wig and tied his hair in a low ponytail with it. Shifting his gaze about, he spotted a washed-up bottle of rum and seized it. Better to look a wasted drunkard than a mysteriously washed-up Lord, or else people would ask questions. Questions he did not want to answer.

He opened up the bottle and instantly recoiled at the pungent scent, reminiscent of Jack's abhorrent breath. Oh, well. He'd have to deal with it. He showered a bit on his waistcoat, getting the reek onto himself. Then he tasted a small bit and immediately spat it back out.

"Disgusting," he hissed.

_At least have the decency to utilize high-quality rum_, he thought to himself disdainfully. But he'd have to get used to it for a more convincing act. Beckett forced himself to down just a sip of the putrid liquid.

Then he turned to Elizabeth and sighed. She was still out cold, but no longer shivering. He hoped that no one would harm her during his absence; he had tried to hard to keep her alive and coax information from her. He was not about to let all those efforts go to a complete waste.

_Wait_, he thought to himself, _fool. Don't neglect to check her status for injury._

Beckett knelt by her side and looked her over. A bloodstain, slowly growing, made itself visible on her left arm sleeve. He made the same aggravated chewing motion he always did when in deep thought or stressed. Quickly, he folded up her sleeve to reveal an ugly cut wound on her forearm flesh. Staring at it, he then removed a strip of cloth from his waistcoat, wrapping it around the wound to pressurize it into ceasing the bleeding.

Contented, he placed his frock coat neatly over her again, and then headed off in search of civilization.

* * *

"Bloody hell," Beckett complained when he first saw the city.

Of course it was here! It just _had_ to be here! Port Faith of all places! Bad things had occurred here in the past. It was one of the few places where the EITC's influence did not spread. And Beckett despised it.

He crept into the loud, bustling port city, rife with activity and liveliness. It was not too far an image from Port Royal, save the fact that there was no military influence that even deigned to touch upon this place. It was as lawless as Tortuga, but so much more civilized. And not nearly as smelly.

He strolled through the streets, trying to look like the average drunkard. Nobody paid him any mind, nor shouted out his name, which was pleasing. Beckett was almost impressed with himself, but he knew he hadn't reached his goal quite yet.

He needed a ship to get back to Port Royal. And he would need a crew for that.

Looking about, he struggled to recall old memories. They were blurry, but they came to him. Yes. The cobbled street. The flower stand that no longer stood erected. The well which yielded no water. The bar on the side, entitled _The Merry Lemon_. He couldn't help but wonder who came up with these absurd names. Lemons couldn't be merry. Lemons weren't even _alive_.

Beckett headed into the bar and glanced around. A fight was going on, as usual, and a band of cheeky performers was promoting the scuffle. He weaved through swinging fists and rum bottles, ignoring the awful stench that permeated the bar.

Then he finally found his destination. A shroud in the wall that led into a back room. Parting the curtain, he stepped through and found himself in a small little room, dimly lit by a single candle. One man sat inside, his feet on the table, a pipe jutting from his lip. A cap sat crooked on his head over a mess of dirty blonde hair, and amber eyes gazed out from the shadow of his hat.

"Captain Valor," said Cutler Beckett smoothly. "I require your assistance."

* * *

A/N: Whew! So much packed into this one! Hope it wasn't too much. And also no, Beckett's character isn't changing quite yet; his acts towards Elizabeth weren't really out of kindness as much as they were his desperation to keep his plans afloat. Though his plans aren't much of anything now. Haha! Alright, thanks for reading. Please review!


	10. Water

A/N: Oh my gosh, I love you guys. I don't think I've ever gotten this many reviews for a story before. XD I think I can call myself proud but I'm not really sure. Massive songs of praise to my wonderful, delightful reviewers: **Miss Cuttlefish**, **Mistress Beckett**, **Rhinoceros**, **Countcresent**, **Lazy Elizabeth Beckett**, **ninjalover13**, **SunAndMoon16**, and **wellwithmysoul**. I'm also now confident that my characterization is good enough... I think. Though now it's going to start getting harder, considering the situation that our lovely protagonists (wut?) have been faced with. Oh—and I keep forgetting to mention this! I don't have a beta reader, so any typos (I know there are a lot; I read these through but am too lazy to fix them once they've been uploaded) are my fault alone. Haha. Can't believe I accidentally wrote "for sprite" instead of "for spite" once. Come on, Beckett would _never_ do anything for a soda that hasn't even been invented yet. oAo;

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol. Gasp that is so bad for small children I should be hung.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**Water.**

Derrick Parker opened up his eyes and felt his whole body sore and stiff with pain. Grunting, he propped himself up on his elbows and then onto his butt, leaning his back against the filthy brig wall.

...Wait. _Brig_?

He scrambled to his feet and looked left and right. This was not the _Endeavour_. And it certainly wasn't the _Pearl_. He shifted his gaze to look at his prison neighbor and groaned.

Jack Sparrow was sitting there, content as a cucumber, humming almost deliriously under his breath. He was gazing at a ring of small keys dangling from his spidery fingers.

Derrick gave him an incredulous stare and approached the bars. "_Sparrow_?" he spat in a hiss-like tone. "Are those the keys out of here?" he interrogated with disbelief hinting his voice.

Jack glanced up past the rim of his captain's cap. "If that were the case, don't you think I'd've smuggled me weasely black guts out uv here already?" he said.

Perturbed, Derrick asked, "Then to what do those keys belong?"

Jack grinned and, instead of answering, took to gazing at the little bits of metal. He spun them round his fingers, listening to the satisfying clinking noises they made upon hitting each other.

Derrick grumbled and sat down in his cell. "What happened? I can't remember anything."

"Well," said Jack, "since _I_ was being _held_ in that miniscule-li'l-cell-thing within the _Endeavour_, I can't _really_ tell you, now can I?"

Derrick rolled his eyes. "If you truly were being held under constant lock in said ship, then do explain how you ended up in here."

Jack smirked. "I'm a pirate, mate," he answered, as though it was the excuse for everything.

Unfortunately for him, though, Derrick didn't consider it as such. He turned away from Sparrow and faced the empty cell on his other side. "What happened to Barbossa and Gibbs?"

Jack tucked the keys into his coat and shrugged, starting to pick at his nasty, grimy fingernails with his teeth. Derrick, dismayed, started pacing in his cell, unable to deal with the lack of things to do.

_God damn it. This is all Beckett's fault..._

* * *

The room was thick with smoke, and Beckett couldn't help but cough a few times. He hurriedly took a seat as Captain Valor removed his feet from the table, slowly bringing the pipe from his lips, letting out a long stream of smog.

"Cutler _Beckett_?" said Valor in disbelief, although his facial expression remained relatively calm and smirky as always. His eyes gleamed with both confusion and excitement.

"It's Lord now, actually," Beckett responded haughtily as he waved smoke away from his own face. "Although I would imagine it's hard to tell with my current state."

"That it is," Valor said softly as he sat up, upturning his pipe and tapping it against the table, letting the burned-out ash drop onto the surface. "And just what do you require of me, _Milord_?"

Beckett coughed one last time before finally clearing his throat. "A ship and a crew, for safe passage to Port Royal."

Valor's brows rose. "How did you come to arrive here at Port Faith without a ship and crew of your own?"

Beckett was bitter at this. "Of course I had a fleet of my own, Captain Valor. A rabble of pirates managed to take down my flagship and I was washed ashore here. Though it's rather regrettable, I must say that my circumstances are rather dire, and I am in need of assistance. Therefore, I have come to you for help."

Now, Captain Samuel Valor was by no means a pirate, or at least, he didn't consider himself to be one. He much preferred the term "privateer"—and yes, while it was true that his Letter of Marque had been long expired and revoked, it didn't matter much to him. He still showed it off, even if all authorities reviled and spat upon him. But Cutler Beckett had always taken kindly to Valor; whether it be because he knew that he would be of worth in the future or simply because Valor was just good to keep around was anyone's guess.

So Valor cocked a brow at this. Indeed, Port Faith was not the most _lawful_ of places, but still; pirate sightings were rare in this area. "I must admit that I find your story to be quite far-fetched. It's been quite a while since I've ventured out, and perhaps the times have changed, but last I recall, Port Faith is renowned for being completely unlawful and safe at the same time. I rather doubt that you were ambushed by pirates. If you're here just to lure me out..."

"Safety and unlawfulness cannot coexist," snapped Beckett testily, and then shied his tongue. Regaining his propriety, he said, "As I recall it, I have always been more than simply generous to you, Captain Valor. I would appreciate gratitude in return. All I ask is a crew and a ship. Is that too much to request of you?" Although his tone was lazy and nonchalant, his words had a malicious gleam in them. An underlying threat.

Valor sighed, letting out a spate of tobacco smoke once again. Beckett recoiled. He did not like tobacco, although it was a very profitable trade. He had made quite an enterprise with tobacco, but he himself did not favor it. There was something vile about it that repelled him. It must be the smell, or the way it quickened the yellowing of the teeth; he wasn't sure.

"The times have changed, Lord Beckett," said Valor finally, his voice slightly coarse. "I'll consider your offer. For now, I'm going to ask that you remove yourself from the premises. I'll not want to see you here again unless I send for you."

Beckett was surprised, and allowed that spatter of emotion to be shown. What in the world—? Valor never acted like this. He'd always been known as an honorable man that always kept his promises and knew his place, not some blathering buffoon who thought himself inherently superior to his betters. What could cause him to behave this way? Yes, granted, it had been many years since they'd met, but people couldn't possibly change so dynamically... could they? "Are you refusing my request?" Beckett said finally.

Valor stuck his pipe back into his mouth. "I believe so, sir," he answered.

Beckett abruptly got up from his seat, almost as though he was ready to raise his voice, and then contained his irritation. Quickly gathering together his composure and putting on a calm face, he said, "Then may I request something far simpler?"

"Such as what?" inquired Valor, cocking a brow.

"A place to stay for the night, perhaps," said Beckett.

Valor considered this, and then—shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that, either. Not under my custody, anyway. You'll have to look elsewhere for assistance, Mr. Beckett. Sorry to say."

Beckett let in a long, drawn-out breath of air (and tobacco smoke, as well). "May I inquire as to why you are refusing my simple requests? They should be of no burden to you."

Valor hesitated, glancing out through the shawl that divided his small alcove room from the bar. Sighing, he admitted, "You're a 'wanted' man, here, Mr. Beckett. Both you and I know that Port Faith is as welcoming a place as ever, indiscriminate it may be. And that any law is an accord established by the peoples and able to be broken at any time if it is most appropriate at the time. But... odd as it is, someone here had the gall to say that you're no longer wanted here. Although our policy may be to accept all, I'm afraid that that policy does not apply to you."

Beckett stared. He wasn't sure what to think of _that_. Yes, he knew he wasn't going to be well-received by the people at Port Faith. But he definitely was not expecting a full-out criminalistic approach from the friendly port town. What had he done to merit this, he wondered? Someone important in the town must really hold a grudge against him. He couldn't help but ponder that person's identity, but he waved off the thought. It wasn't important at the moment, but he would find out soon enough.

"Very well, then, Captain Valor," said Beckett stiffly. "I suppose I shall make my leave now."

"That you will," said Valor with a tilt of his cap. His eyes were steady on the British Lord as he made his leave from the alcove room.

All was silent, until a woman walked out from the shadows, approaching Valor from behind. The shuffling of her dress and the tap of her toes broke the quiet spell. Valor coughed, clearing his throat, and lowered his pipe. Turning his head just a slight, he gazed at the lady who stood there with an impish, satisfied grin on her face.

"Tia Dalma," he regarded with a soft murmur.

* * *

Beckett angrily kicked a coconut as he headed back to the place where he had left Elizabeth. No one was around, so it was fine if he acted angry and childish, he thought to himself furiously. He almost started swearing and cursing, but he wasn't going to stoop to that level. Instead, he merely watched the coconut fly in the air and fall into the ocean with a satisfying _plop_.

Pleased, even though he knew that the kick had done nothing, he promptly headed back to the shady area where Elizabeth was resting against a tree, still unconscious, her face peaceful and almost angelic. He smirked at the irony, and then flopped down into the sand next to her, leaning against an adjacent palm tree, resting his tired legs and body.

He was just starting to get slightly comfortable when he suddenly noticed an odd expression on Elizabeth's face. A slight, poorly suppressed smirk. Beckett was perturbed. That kind of forced expression wasn't the kind that unconscious people made.

"Ms. Swann?" he said cautiously.

Elizabeth tried to remain expressionless, but then she just flat-out giggled, her eyelids fluttering open. "Really," she said breathlessly. "Kicking coconuts?"

Beckett blinked. "For how long have you been conscious?" he interrogated poignantly, avoiding the question tactlessly.

She snickered. "Long enough to see you stomp back in a rage and kick a helpless coconut into the sea."

He exhaled loudly enough to be heard, tired of the way he was being treated by all the people he had actually bothered helping. He made a note to himself to treat everyone poorly and manipulate them with razor-sharp strings; they always listened better that way for some odd reason. The ones he had been kind to never seemed to appreciate the favor, but the ones he treated cruelly knew the pain of punishment and so shied away from it. Of course, this was a note had made to himself long ago, but sometimes he felt the temptation to develop positive relationships just in case they would be necessary in later times. Which they had. Sometimes.

Elizabeth propped herself up a bit more, wincing a slight at the cut on her arm. Waving off the pain quickly, though, she said, "Where were you?" Her voice had an odd lilt to it, which Beckett noted, but he was quick to attribute it to the slight blood loss from the cut on her arm.

"Attempting to retrieve assistance," Beckett responded in a clipped tone. "Before you may inquire as to my success, I will respond by saying it was a failure, which should be readily apparent from my obvious irritation."

She nodded. "Where are we?"

"The specific name of this island, I'm not sure of," Beckett replied. "However, there is a town nearby called 'Port Faith.' It is there that I sought assistance and failed to find it."

She smirked. "Maybe they know better than to help a man like you." She relished in the goodness of her comeback, and then finally realized what was different about Beckett.

"You're not wearing your wig," she said bluntly.

Beckett sighed. "Shall I congratulate you for noticing?"

"Why aren't you wearing your wig?" she asked. He looked strange without it. It was like seeing James without a wig; it was just _wrong_. He appeared too normal, too average. The wig made him seem pompous, proper, and posh. The lack of it made him seem... strangely equal. And it made her uncomfortable—yet strangely comfortable.

"Venturing into Port Faith required a proper disguise," Beckett answered with an annoyed tone. He was getting tired of answering questions. "And anyway, it doesn't matter, now does it, Ms. Swann? We're stranded on this island."

"But you just said there's Port Faith. Why can't we just leave from there?" she pointed out curiously.

He chose not to answer, leaving it to her own devices to guess. Beckett instead turned his attention to the pistol that he had received from Amadi, deciding to fiddle with it.

Elizabeth watched on curiously. She wondered just what exactly had happened at Port Faith, but didn't want to ask. She definitely did not want to be reprimanded by Beckett. She took a brief swig from the water canteen sitting next to her, which she'd found earlier and had been using for a while. Then, she suddenly remembered that she had something more interesting to do. Reaching into her dress folds, she procured _My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates_. Although she had just been through seawater, the book appeared relatively intact.

Beckett lifted his head from the pistol and stared. "You've been carrying that thing with you this entire time," he said with slight fascination. "Can you tell me why?"

She shrugged. "I suppose I really like it. It's exciting."

"It's mine," he said numbly, though he wasn't going to argue.

Elizabeth smiled. "You did say I was allowed to read it."

"As long as you handled it gently," he reminded her. "You've gotten it wet. I wonder if the words are even legible now?"

She grinned. "Shall we test it out?" She scooted over until she was uncomfortably close to him. Beckett gave her a slightly incredulous stare and scooted away, but she came closer until she was up next to him.

He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't the blood loss. He sniffed the air around her and cringed. "Where did you...?" he gaped and then his eyes spotted the innocent canteen in the sand. He reached forward and snatched it, unscrewing the cap and giving it a whiff. Recoiling, he informed her, "Ms. Swann. This is not water."

But poor Ms. Swann was already too drunk to realize that.

* * *

A/N: Lol. I just couldn't resist myself. (X You know I'd just jump at this.


	11. Sing

A/N: Lol. I'm so bad for writing that last chapter. This chapter is going to be all Beckett and Elizabeth. (I don't know why, but writing Jack makes me apprehensive; I feel like he's such a loved character that people have high standards for him, so his actions and speech become harder to interpret. And don't even get me started on Barbossa's accent.) Anywho, thanks to my wonderful reviewers as always: **Rhinoceros**, **Mistress Beckett**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, **Miss Cuttlefish**, **Countcresent**, and **SunAndMoon16**. Warning, this chapter has lots of innuendo and may be very embarrassing. Lol. I also used some crude British slang here and there.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein, save any creations of my own. (Oh, and I don't own the song within this chapter. That belongs to Disney, I believe.)

Warnings: Drunkenness and innuendo. Nothing explicit though. XD

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Sing.**

Beckett's first idea was to put a wall between the two of them. His second was to knock her out. And his third was to _get the hell away_.

None of which, sadly, were really doable.

Elizabeth cuddled up close to him, humming, almost. He had the strangest urge to run away, but he didn't want to leave the drunken girl alone. She might do… dangerous things. And that wouldn't be good, either.

So he tolerated it as she leaned her head onto his chest and flopped open the book. Her arms flapped forward awkwardly and the book hit him in the face, right on the cheek.

"Ms. Swann," he said exasperatedly as he snatched the book from her grasp. "Please do get a hold of yourself."

"Give me the book back," she whined, but in a playful manner. "Don't you want to read it with me?"

Beckett stared at her wordlessly. Ms. Swann could be an indignant, resistant little girl, but as a drunk, she was ridiculously stupid and her mind was probably inherently thinking only of her libido. And above all, she had probably forgotten that he was her enemy.

Which could be taken advantage of.

…No, he'd have to suffer the repercussions later when she sobered.

Damn it.

"No, Ms. Swann," said Beckett stiffly but sternly, "I do not wish to read this book with you." He paused, then added, "Why don't you get some sleep? I'm sure you're very fatigued."

She smiled. "Are you trying to _bonk_ me, Beckett?" she asked, using a crude slang euphemism for a far more _dirty_ word.

"_What_?" he spluttered, caught completely off guard, and then quickly scooted away. "Are you mad?" he snapped, his surprise and exasperation forcing him to forget that Elizabeth was totally rat-arsed.

She propped herself up on her elbows, lying on her side. With a sly smirk, she said, "You asked if I wanted to sleep. With you."

"I did not," he argued indignantly, again forgetting that he was arguing with a total drunk.

"Well, I'll have you know something," she said smoothly, still with that damned impish expression on her face. "I might not look like it, but I'm quite _au fait_ with the sneaky, sly ways you men try to employ to get someone in your bed."

He stared, at a complete loss for words.

"Not that I've ever done it before," she added almost pointedly. "But you wouldn't care about that." She thought for a moment (well, providing she could even _think_ in this state), and then said, "Well, I suppose I've gone on a bender with Jack before, but that's because rum was the only thing on that stupid island, and we didn't do anything _intimate_, if that's what you're thinking."

Beckett still stared. He was about to interject in her long, slurred monologue when an idea suddenly hit him. He'd done this before, yes, but it was always with someone who wasn't nearly as stupid when drunk. It was a tactic he'd employed on Parker; get them a little drunk, just enough to spill out their guts and tell him their everything. Yes, Swann was a total blathering nincompoop at the moment, but this could all be used to his own advantage, with just some proper leverage.

"Ms. Swann," said Beckett slowly. "What exactly did you do with Mr. Sparrow then?"

She appeared insulted. "Beckett!" she exclaimed in a horrified tone. "I just said it wasn't anything intimate. Really. It was right after Barbossa had dumped the two of us on that damn island. I was interrogating him about all those silly, _fake_ legends that had procured about him, only to find out they were all false. He showed me this underground vault of rum traders on the island and he gave me a drink... we made a big fire and started dancing around, singing... oh, I burned all the rum after that!"

She seemed cross, but Beckett wasn't looking much at her. "The rum traders," he repeated, and then blinked, smiling pleasantly. "Ah, yes, I remember the rum traders."

Elizabeth giggled. "Served them right, it did, for helping out Jack Sparrow. He was a big fraud. A liar and a lunatic. Said he made a raft out of sea turtles, and tied them together with the hairs on his back. I don't believe that one bit." She paused. "But, you know, Mr. Gibbs does. I wonder why."

She grabbed the rum canteen and drank it before Beckett had time to react.

Horrified, he snatched it from her grip and felt it oddly light. It was empty. He threw it behind him, barely concealing a look of sheer terror on his face. "Ms. Swann!" he exclaimed. "You really must cease this madness!"

Injured, Elizabeth said, "Why'd you take my canteen away?"

"Because," he spluttered, "you're clearly not well. I highly recommend that you get some rest."

"With you," she said poignantly.

"_No_!" he said, raising his voice, growing severely uncomfortable and annoyed.

She grinned idiotically and then snatched the rum bottle that Beckett had used as part of his disguise. Before he could get it away from her, she tilted the bottle back and drank the contents heartily. Then she tossed the empty flask into the sand.

Beckett started up to his feet. "Ms. Swann—!"

"Oh, what's wrong? Aren't you Lord Cutler Beckett himself? Can't you handle anything?" Elizabeth teased recklessly, jeering in his face. "Didn't you climb all the way from the bottom of the political ladder up to the top, with amazing endurance and strength? Come on, come on, is a drunk girl too much for you to handle?"

"Ms. Swann, you're not thinking straight in the least," Beckett snapped, beginning to get infuriated with her behavior. "I advise that you please calm yourself."

"Trying to put me to sleep, are you?" Elizabeth shot back and came up by his side, wrapping arm around his shoulders. He barely contained a horrified expression as her rum-permeated breath caressed his nostrils while she laughed up in his face, way too dangerously close to him.

Beckett did _not_ like being touched, least of all by a drunken wench. He was about to squirm out of her grasp when she suddenly started dancing around, trying to drag him with her in her convoluted waltz. "Ms. Swann!" he exclaimed, exasperated, trying to keep his balance as she spun this way and that.

Elizabeth laughed, quickly letting go of him. His gathered momentum sent him stumbling a few steps. "Catch me!" she shouted, turning and—running. She darted into the jungle, laughing and hollering.

"Bloody hell," Beckett breathed, gathering his wits. "She's out of her mind." He looked around and grabbed his now-dried frock coat, slipping it back on. "I cannot _believe_ this," he muttered under his breath as he began to chase after her.

* * *

Branches and leaves slapped her face as she ran past, but she didn't mind it. The feel of the cool wind brushing on her cheeks and wiping all the sweat and grime away was enough to keep her running. She let herself laugh freely as she ran through the jungle. It was just a blissful game of tag, she thought to herself joyfully. It was the most fun she'd had in a very long time.

Meanwhile, Beckett was trailing behind her, swatting away branches and swearing under his breath. "Ms. Swann!" he called after her, but his words were lost on her ears. He ducked under a thick, hanging vine, but then his foot caught on a curled root and he careened forwards. He barely caught himself on his hands and knees just before his face almost made contact with a rather pointed rock in the earth.

"Come on, come on!" Elizabeth hooted, her voice growing quieter as she went deeper in. "You're the fearsome Lord Cutler Beckett! Catch me! I'm a pirate! Come on, can't you catch me?"

Beckett balled his hands into fists as he grunted, getting to his feet again. He dusted himself off quickly, wiping the mud from his clothes and palms. "Bloody hell, Ms. Swann; what's gotten into you?" He exclaimed, but she was too far in to hear his words clearly, in all meanings of the phrase. "Damn it," he hissed as he started to run again.

"Catch me and hang me on the gallows!" Elizabeth yelled as she pranced, weaving through the trees and bushes. "_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_" she sang, "_We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!_"

"What in the bloody hell are you singing?" Beckett snapped, finally started to get her back in his sight. She was a floundering cremello dot in his vision, bouncing up and down as she galloped on through. "Slow down, Ms. Swann! It's dangerous!" He shouted after her.

"_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!_" she continued to sing, but her drunken madness butchered whatever melody the song might have had.

Beckett was beginning to grow severely infuriated. Was she mocking him with that stupid pirate song?

"_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me! We extort and pilfer, we filch and—_!" At this, the song abruptly stopped as Elizabeth sunk out of Beckett's view.

His heart almost skipped a beat in utter fear. Had she died? Had the alcohol finally choked her to death? Had all this running finally exerted her heart to the point of overworking? "Ms. Swann!" he yelled desperately as he breathlessly ran over to where he'd last seen her. He wondered why he was worrying so much. He never cared when he saw his own men die in front of him, yet this blasted Elizabeth Swann was making him fret over someone's safety other than his own.

He found her in the midst of snapped twigs and parted bushes. She was lying on the forest floor, prostrate. He turned her over onto her back gently, and saw the rise and fall of her chest. Immediate relief filled him, though he couldn't help but wonder why.

"Idiot," he mumbled under his breath as he picked her up more carefully than before, letting her lie in his arms. He blinked as he saw a growing spot of blood on her arm and folded up her sleeve once again to view the ugly cut wound. The strip of cloth he had wrapped around it had loosened from her own sweat, and the blood streamed freely. A trickle of white pus also dripped from it, and the flesh around the wound had swelled. Shaking his head, Beckett quickly made his way out of the jungle, following the flattened path of foliage that Elizabeth had left behind.

He settled down at the edge of the forest once again and lied her down by the shade of the palm trees. Beckett quickly retied the cloth, doing the best he could with what little he had. He rested the back of his hand over her forehead and felt that it was unnaturally hot.

Sighing, he said softly, "What a farce you've gotten us into, Ms. Swann." He paused, and then added, "No more rum for you."

Elizabeth did not answer. Obviously.

Beckett looked up and saw the skies already darkening. The last glow of the sun had sunk into the sea, and he knew that the moon would soon be up. He leaned back against the adjacent palm tree and removed his frock coat, blanketing it over Elizabeth with care, but making sure not to heat up her head. He wished he had a rag of sorts—oh! He got an idea.

Beckett snatched his wig, the empty canteen, and the now-vacant rum bottle. He turned to the woods, then back to Elizabeth. "I'll be right back, Ms. Swann, so please do sit tight," he said, even though he was aware that she was unconscious. Then he headed into the jungle.

* * *

He had already reached the pool of fresh water when he suddenly began to question his own motives.

"Why in the world am I doing this?" He muttered to himself as he sat down by the bank, refilling the canteen carefully. And it was true, why _was_ he doing this? Granted, Elizabeth Swann was his only way of success at this point. But sometimes he felt like he was acting too kind to her. He was doubting his own decisions and feelings, really. This whole "marooned on the island" experience was making him unsure of himself, and it was annoying him. Beckett did not like the feeling of being unsure.

Yes, he should be concerned for her—if only to make sure that she stayed safe for later usage. She was of worth to the pirates and she had valuable information. That was all. It shouldn't be anything more complicated than that! So why this... this odd, inherent obligation that he had to take care of her?

It's just the whole "necessary tool" situation, Beckett told himself. It's got nothing to do with my innate _feelings_.

He had filled the rum bottle up to the rim now, and he capped it appropriately. Grabbing the canteen and his now-soaked wig, Beckett stepped back up to his feet and headed towards the exit, following the path he had marked with a sharpened stick.

Once he had reached Elizabeth again, he checked her to verify that she was unconscious. Which she was. Good. He liked her better quiet, and not insane and crazy like she had been when drunk.

He would never let a single drop of alcohol reach that woman's lips ever again. _Ever_.

Beckett settled down by her side and put the sopping wet wig on her forehead. It was nice and cool, which, he figured, should counteract the heat of her fever. Then he placed the canteen next to her and the bottle by himself. He leaned back against the palm tree and closed his eyes. But he was feeling awfully restless.

He turned to his side, but that did not improve his comfort. He rolled to his other side. That didn't contribute, either. He felt the sand snake its way through his clothing and grind itself against his flesh, which made him extremely uncomfortable. He got up and began dusting himself off obsessively, and then settled back down, only to get himself into the same situation again.

Beckett started to chew on nothing again. This was annoying him to no end. He tossed and turned more, but no matter what position he took, he was uncomfortable. "Bloody hell," he mumbled under his breath, growing frustrated.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

A/N: Lol! If you guys were feeling sorry for Beckett before, I guess it's different now. Poor him, he has to deal with Elizabeth's insanity. And just wait until she wakes up the next day... oh my. Anyway, thanks for reading! Please review~


	12. Alone

A/N: Ah, that last chapter sure was enjoyable to write. XD Glad you guys enjoyed it. And I assure you that Beckett's not suddenly a nice guy yet! This is my first time attempting this kind of character development; it might be rocky, but I'll try... But, nevertheless, thanks to all my beloved reviewers! I love you forever: **ninjalover13**, **Rhinoceros**, **wellwithmysoul**, **Miss Cuttlefish**, **Mistress Beckett**, **Countcresent**, and **SunandMoon16**. All of you are making this so enjoyable for me to write, and I hope my updates aren't too slow for you all. My update intervals seem to be two to four days at average, which I don't think is too slow. Though this update was a bit delayed due to this week being very hectic. Sorry about that!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Pirates of the Caribbean_. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein, save any creations of my own.

Warnings: None. Well, maybe more innuendo.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**Alone.**

Elizabeth awoke to find her head sufficiently cooled and her body comfortably warmed. She was in oddly good spirits as she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

That is, until she realized it _wasn't_ a blanket. She stared at the frock coat enveloping her and then at the damp wig on her head and nearly shrieked. Throwing off Beckett's clothing articles, she quickly snapped, "_Beckett_!" Blinking, she realized that he was asleep on the sand.

Elizabeth settled back down and put the frock coat back over her. She wondered how last night had went... her memory was strangely foggy—?

_Had Beckett drugged her?_

...No. Wait. Now she remembered. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She'd gotten herself drunk, but did she have any way of knowing what he had done to her during her mindless state?

No. No, she didn't. Immediate panic flooded through her. What if he had, per se, taken _advantage_ of her during that time? That was a fully plausible theory, and it terrified her. She sat there quietly, debating on possibilities. Could he have just wheedled information out of her? Or might he have done something worse? Maybe even compromise her vir...—? Another flood of panic washed through her.

"Beckett," she repeated frantically.

He was actually wake, but he did not want to humor her. So he remained lying there passively, still trying to appear asleep.

She prodded over to him and hissed, "Beckett." But he didn't answer. Frustrated, she shook him and repeated loudly, "Lord Cutler Beckett!"

His eyelids fluttered open and, not even so much as _glancing_ at her, he said smoothly, "And what do you want, Ms. Swann?"

"What happened last night?" she snapped instantaneously.

He looked at her boredly and got to his feet, dusting himself off, ridding the creases of his outfit of sand. "I believe," he responded curtly, "that you were drunk out of your wits, Ms. Swann."

"Yes, I do believe I know that," she responded angrily. "What exactly did you do to me during that time?"

"What did I _do_ to you?" Beckett repeated with an odd look on his face, but still, not much of a change from his average, disinterested expression.

"Don't act as though you didn't!" Elizabeth shouted. "Here I am, a drunk, helpless girl... what's not to take advantage of?"

Beckett's mouth hung open a slight bit, wordlessly. Then he blinked several times and said, "I beg your pardon?" Crossing his arms over his chest, he said in a low tone, "If there was anything I did to you, Ms. Swann, it was making sure that you didn't do anything _foolish_ in your drunken state of mind."

She narrowed her eyes and pouted a bit. "I find myself doubting you. And I daresay I don't wonder why."

Beckett stared at her silently for a few seconds, and then snatched up his frock coat, dusting it off profusely. Donning it, he fitted it properly onto himself and grabbed the water canteen.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked furiously.

"Going to Port Faith," he answered in a clipped tone. "You will accompany." It was a command, not a request.

She gave him a haughty stare, tilting her head upwards. "Your wording indicates that you have some level of power over me," she said triumphantly. "Yet I see no reason to obey you."

Beckett's brows rose. "Damn," he hissed under his breath, a barely uttered word of contempt. In a more audible tone, he said, "Then what other course of action are you to take, Ms. Swann?" If he could not rule over her by bargain, then he would take her by logic—something that even _she_ should comprehend. "There is nothing else on this particular sect of island save palm trees, bare shores, chalky sand, and the occasional remotely appetizing coconut. I believe that little exists for your purposes here. If you wish to succeed in your goals, then Port Faith is the place where you must head." He paused, letting his slew of words sink in. Then, he said, "Do you still wish to object?"

Elizabeth stared at him pointedly. Then, between her teeth, she said, "Fine. But I won't be going there, not while I look like a washed-up wretch."

He snorted softly. "If you so desire a bath, care to tell me where one would be located around here, Ms. Swann?" he inquired sarcastically.

She glared at him with an injured look.

"I didn't think so," Beckett said. "Now, enough pathetic subterfuges from you. We'd best be on our way."

* * *

Amadi headed down into the brig, walking straight past Derrick Parker's cage and up to Jack Sparrow's.

Jack looked up from his seat on the brig, and his eyes widened a tad, then narrowed as he struggled to recognize the character before him. "You," he said. "You... you're... you're... Jocard's angry man, right?"

"First mate. Now captain," Amadi spat. In a lower voice, he added, "Gentleman Jocard might have had good feelings towards you, but do not expect the same hospitality from me, _Sparrow_."

"_Captain_ Sparrow," Jack corrected.

Amadi's lip curled. He gestured with his head towards a shadowy figure standing by the doorway, who then proceeded down the steps, each movement accompanied by a heavy _thump_ of the boots. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched when he saw none other than Captain Teague step into his view.

"You got yourself into some trouble, Jackie," said Teague plainly.

Jack muttered something under his breath, then got up and crept closer to the bars, hesitantly. "Wot are you doing here?" he asked.

"Saving you," Teague responded bluntly. He waved his hand, signaling Amadi to open up the cell door, which he did. Jack stepped out, but then his arms flew into the air and he staggered back as Amadi's pistol was pointed at him. Jack gave him a perturbed, incredulous stare.

"Like I said before," Amadi said venomously, "I do not trust you, _Captain_ Sparrow."

Jack gestured to Amadi as he looked to Teague. "Get this bugger away from me, will ya?" he implored casually.

Teague looked grim as he turned and walked away without another word. Jack's face slightly curled with almost-disgust, but more of distaste with his current circumstances. "So if not the brig," he said to Amadi, "then where?"

Amadi smirked. "We will not waste rations on a man who does nothing," he said. "Every hand must work on this ship. Now off you go." He shoved Jack up the stairs, and then prodded over to Derrick.

"I heard what you just said," said Derrick without even being addressed, "but I'd rather be hung than work alongside pirates."

"Hmph," Amadi huffed. "Hanging is a method of capital punishment employed by the rich and lavish. A pirate such as myself much prefers the beheading—or cutting out tongues."

Derrick's nose crinkled. "How foul," he said, not in the mood to deal with a filthy pirate.

"And what makes you think you have a right to judge what goes on upon my ship?" Amadi snarled.

"Perhaps the fact that your ship, and its master, fails to intimidate me in the least," Derrick shot back, well aware that he was baiting the captain.

"You think you are better than us?" the pirate scowled. "I have you in a prison cell at the mercy of my whim. You had better act kinder to me or I might cut out your tongue just for sheer amusement."

"You're a barbaric idiot who doesn't employ the intelligence of humans and would rather act upon his sheer emotional instinct," said Derrick heatedly. "In other words, you're a complete and utter fool."

Amadi flared at this. He kicked the brig cell with his boot, hard. The noise reverberated and Derrick nearly flinched. "Why do you think you have any worth?" he hissed. "You are useless."

"The fact that you have kept me alive up until now suggests otherwise," Derrick answered matter-of-factly. Hah. Beckett might think him stupid, but he didn't think so.

Amadi narrowed his eyes. "I thought you might have had bargaining worth," he admitted acidly. "But bargaining for some small price is not worth—"

"—hearing the truth which even you acknowledge deep inside about your own foolishness?" Derrick completed haughtily.

The pirate's lip curled and his eyes bulged just a slight. This prisoner needed to be taken care of. He was obnoxious, annoying, and pretentious, even. "Keep your mouth shut," Amadi spat. "We will get rid of you later." He turned and headed up the stairs.

Derrick settled down against the brig wall and slid to the floor again. Sighing, he shut his eyes and decided to get some sleep or something.

* * *

Jack looked about as he paced around the deck in a jolly good mood. Yes, Teague had made him apprehensive, but that minor hitch amounted to nothing in comparison to the most important of all things: he was free, free, _free_! Just the way he ought to be.

"So wot happened after you people took the _Pearl_?" Jack inquired to the pirates on deck, who were busy working away after the fight against the EITC armada.

They all gave him a look, then went back to working. Finally, the one tying knots answered, "We throwed the Beckett man overboard and the wench, too."

Jack's eyebrows rose, and then his eyes widened. Drunkenly prancing over to the sailor, he repeated, "The wench?" Then he shouted, "You mean Lizzie!"

"...The wench did not say her name," the sailor responded, slightly annoyed.

"But you threw Lizzie overboard! With _Beckett_!" Jack exclaimed, waving his arms as if to emphasize an especially bad point.

The sailor, slightly taken aback, said, "There is problem?"

"Yes! There is problem! There is _MUCH_ problem!" Jack shouted in response. "Where did you drop her off? Where'd ya drop off Lizzie?"

The sailor flinched at this outburst. "We dropped off the wench at island."

"Yes, I know that! _What_ island!" Jack yelled interrogatively.

"Uh—!" The sailor staggered back, stammering. "Mebbe it's near the Port Faith?" he suggested hesitantly.

Jack blinked. "Port Faith?" He repeated, and then, grinning, he said, "You're a diamond, mate. Good!" All smiles now, he stalked off to the captain's helm to bother more people.

* * *

Elizabeth was surprised by how similar Port Faith appeared in comparison to Port Royal. Of course, a lack of soldiers made it seem significantly more chaotic, but it certainly was nothing like the rum-permeated place of Tortuga.

"Well. I must say that this place goes far beyond my expectations," she admitted as she walked alongside Beckett's strides. "But may I ask why you failed to find assistance here?"

He did not answer her inquiry. Instead, he said, "Once we reach _The Merry Lemon_, I will wait for you outside. Head into the back room; the entrance is designated by a curtain shroud."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth said incredulously, turning to Beckett.

He sighed and, not looking at her, continued to walk. "Just as I am saying, Ms. Swann. We require assistance, though it will not be given to me. However, that isn't to say that assistance will not be given to _anyone_. All you must do is ask the sir in the back room for a safe voyage to Port Royal."

"And why, I wonder, would he deny _you_ that?" She asked in a low, suspicious voice.

Beckett chose not to answer. "Enough stalling," he drawled. "Here we are." They stopped in front of the bar entrance. "All you must do, Ms. Swann, is what I told you to. It should be relatively simple. Captain Valor is a most respectable man and should honor any agreement you make with him."

"Unlike you," she muttered scathingly as she walked into the bar. She skirted the ordinary barfight and headed to the back, where, indeed, there was a shroud leading into a small room. Elizabeth hesitantly poked her head through, then withdrew it, coughing. There was an awful lot of smoke in there.

Braving herself, Elizabeth headed in there once more, letting the thick gray smog engulf her. She made her way towards the only table within and took a seat. A man was sitting across from her, his face clouded by smoke, the pipe between his two fingers. For a moment, the two of them sat there silently. Then she spoke.

"Um... Captain Valor?" she ventured hesitantly.

Valor tipped his cap just a bit, letting his amber eyes glint. He leaned forward and tapped the pipe against the table, letting the used-up tobacco ash tumble out. "Yes?"

"I was wondering something," said Elizabeth, biting her lip. "Could... do you... I've been looking for a way to get to Port Royal."

His brows rose.

"I have tried many ways, unfortunately none are available. I heard about you and that you have a ship... that can take me to Port Royal posthaste. I could... pay you for your services, I suppose..." Elizabeth continued nervously.

Valor paused. Was it merely a coincidence that this woman had come to him just a day after Beckett had? Yes... it had to be; she was not mentioning another person... quite yet. Perhaps he should make her elaborate. "You alone?" He inquired.

Elizabeth paused. Now, ideally, she could answer with a _no_ and leave with Beckett, which was obviously what _he_ wanted. But she could say _yes_. And that _yes_ would leave Beckett deserted here, out of her life, forever.

She considered the possibilities. If she said _no_ and mentioned Beckett, the two of them would go together, and she would be taken to Port Royal once more and forced to do his bidding. That was terrible. She didn't want to do that at all, especially now that she was quite sure that Jack was free, or something of the other. And then she could say _yes_, she's alone. She would be free from Beckett forever. She could meet with Jack again. Or she could live happily, without Beckett.

Elizabeth took the choice that would make her happy. "Yes, I'm alone," she said, nodding her head.

Valor nodded curtly. That was odd. So perhaps she really did have nothing to do with Beckett. "Very well," he said.

Instant relief filled her. "Thank you!" she said breathlessly. "But how shall I ever pay you back?"

He paused, then shrugged. "You seem to be in quite the farce, miss. I'd hate to turn down help from one who needs it. You needn't pay me anything."

Elizabeth flushed. "Thank you so much," she murmured, unused to this sort of charity. There was no honor among pirates, she thought to herself. Mustering her words, again, she added, "My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth... Hall."

Valor smiled wryly. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hall. I'm Captain Samuel Valor, as you seem to know."

She nodded. "Yes, I have heard about you."

"That comes as no surprise to me," he admitted. "Now, shall we be on our way? My ship is at dock right now, and we were planning to leave tonight anyway. We can drop you off at Port Royal on our way out."

Elizabeth nodded profusely. "Yes, that sounds wonderful." Then she hesitated, and said, "Um, may I request something extra?"

"Yes?" He raised a brow.

"Could we leave through a back entrance? On my way in, there was an odd man watching me walk into the bar. I'm very nervous and I do not wish to walk out that way again, for I fear..." she shuddered, trying to play the good actress. She knew Beckett would be waiting outside, and if he saw her leaving, he would obviously ask. No, she would have to avoid him.

Valor's brows rose. "That is quite an issue. Yes, thankfully, there is a back entrance. Come with me, we may exit that way." He got to his feet and walked over to a door in the corner of the room that she had not noticed previously. He opened it, causing a draft of cold air to flush through the room, churning up the smoke. The two of them walked out into a back alleyway, shadowed by tall buildings.

Elizabeth's eyes widened when she saw the woman standing there. "Tia Dalma?" She gaped.

* * *

A/N: Again, sorry about the long wait. This week's been really hectic for me. So yeah, woo! Elizabeth is gonna ditch Beckett! Wonder what happens next.


	13. Guilt

A/N: Agh! Sorry about the slow update again! orz Anyway, I... looked at the huge amount of reviews I have, and I have to say, I'm really happy again! All of you are so wonderful, and I'm glad I can write a story that many people can enjoy (even Beckett haters, lol XD). So, big gratitude to all my reviewers once again: **ninjalover13**, **Mistress Beckett**, **Miss Cuttlefish**, **SunAndMoon16**, **Countcresent**, and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**! Anyway. Sorry about the hugely long wait. I had a bad writer's block, which means this chapter won't be very good at all. X_x;

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: A really _god awful horrible_ attempt at Tia Dalma's accent. May result in eyes bleeding.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Guilt.**

Tia Dalma smiled slyly, circling Elizabeth, running a hand across her cheek. "It seems dat fate 'as touched upon you..." she drawled in her thick accent. "Elizabit... Turnuh."

Elizabeth flinched as Valor looked to her incredulously. He was about to open his mouth to question this odd name, but then Elizabeth said, "I... don't know who she's talking about."

The sea goddess grinned. "You have made de right choice. You leave him behind... on dis island... 'e cannot get to you."

"How can you be so sure?" Elizabeth inquired, trying to ignore Captain Valor's curious gaze.

Tia Dalma's playful mood was suddenly angry and wrathful. "...'im supposed to be dead. Killed from de battle ag'inst de pirates." Elizabeth merely stared silently as Tia Dalma circled around, continuing her speech. "I will make sure dat him live no longer. 'E cannot go to dis city for help. An' 'e won't be able to stand de island water for long."

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "So you... you intend for him to perish here. Alone."

The sea goddess smirked again, playful once more. "So you 'ave nothing to worry about. Ms... Turnuh."

"Very well." Elizabeth suddenly felt odd. The idea of Beckett dying so slowly at her own acts did not sit well with her.

Wait—_what_? Was she actually beginning to care for him? She pushed the thought out of her mind. She ought to _rejoice_ at his pain and misery, not despair in it! No. No, she _didn't_ care about him. He could rot and die here on this godforsaken island for all she cared! She hated Beckett. She didn't care about him.

Tia Dalma turned and began to walk down the back street, waving her hand so that Elizabeth would follow. She did, and as she strolled along, Valor caught up to her. "Elizabeth _Turner_, is it?" said Valor, cocking a brow.

She turned her head to him, sighing. "I'm sorry, Captain, sir. My life is in danger... the Lord Beckett is pursuing me... I felt a disguise necessary," she lied, but in the tone of reluctant truth.

Valor blinked yet again. He didn't quite mind being lied to, but now this lady had piqued his curiosity. How odd. And Tia Dialma apparently knew this girl as well. "Cutler Beckett is chasing you?" he inquired curiously.

"Yes..." Elizabeth nodded. "I... ah... have information that he requires." Pausing, she added, "So he would do what he could to get it out of me. You must understand."

Valor nodded. "I see... I understand how distressed you must be, Ms. Turner."

"Please," said Elizabeth. "Call me Ms. Hall... I intend to start life anew once Port Royal is reached." And that, at least, was true. She could not go on as Elizabeth Swann, or even Elizabeth Turner. That woman was dead. Killed by pirates.

"Sound reasoning, Ms. Hall," said Valor politely.

"Ms. _Hall_," Tia Dalma said, turning abruptly. "I will give you a fair wind to de Port Royal. Go quickly an' do not come back." She nodded to Valor, giving him an unspoken message.

"Wait—!" exclaimed Elizabeth, but Tia Dalma was gone.

* * *

She was taking too long. _Far_ too long. Arms crossed over his chest, Beckett leaned against _The Merry Lemon_'s wall and waited. He had been waiting for even longer when a fierce wind suddenly picked up, blowing straight towards the direction of Port Royal. Blinking, he gazed skyward, and then swiftly headed into _The Merry Lemon_ himself, intending to see what was going on. He walked into the back room—and saw it was empty. Devoid of anyone. Even the smoke had left it.

"Ms. Swann? Captain Valor?" he called softly, yet knowing that he would receive no response.

Sighing, Beckett shook his head. He began to leave when Tia Dalma suddenly stepped out from the shadows, approaching him. He shot her a stare. "Well, well. If it isn't Calypso," he drawled coolly, attempting to act calm and composed. And superior.

"Beckett," she snapped. "You scum of de sea. You should have not come here."

"So the sea prefers the very pirates who bound her, even after all the blood they have shed upon her waters?" he responded in the form of a question.

"And you are no better d'an de very ones hang," Calypso snapped. "Your sinners are great, but your sins are greater."

"Oh really," Beckett said, not paying much mind to the goddess's senseless drabble. "So you, I suppose, are the one who has put me through all this grief and issue. I assume, then, that Valor's pitiful and terribly-fabricated excuse was all your work. Then again, such sloppy plans are fitting for such a brackish woman."

"Know your place," she snarled as she came closer to him, threateningly. "I will make sure dat the last t'ing you know is the feeling of a painful death."

Beckett stared at the goddess, but he felt no sense of marvel. She was just a woman to him still, and little more. There was nothing to be afraid of, but yet there was. It was anger, though, that clouded what should have kept his snarky comments down. He was unspeakably annoyed—infuriated, even. Why? Honestly, why? His situation was awful, and these people weren't even bothering to come up with good excuses on why. It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Really.

"Why?" he said, deciding to voice his raging thoughts.

Tia Dalma narrowed her eyes. "Dis town will not help you," she said. "Nothing on dis island will. You will change yourself, or you will die."

Then, she vanished.

* * *

"So this is your ship?" Elizabeth marveled as she ran her fingers over the wooden rails.

Valor nodded as he his crew rushed to prepare the ship around them. "The _Gilded Lancer_. Never a prettier ship, if I don't say so myself."

She laughed. "Don't all captains say that of their own vessels?"

He smirked. "Perhaps so, miss."

Leaning against the railing, she smiled and said, "So you fancy yourself a privateer, do you?" She gave a nod to the British flag raised up upon the ship.

"Quite," he responded. "Even though my Letter of Marque is practically obsolete at this point."

She laughed. "Not completely lawful, are we?"

"You'll find that there's goodness even among the unlawful," he answered.

Elizabeth thought about that for a few seconds. Then, she said, "I don't doubt that."

Valor slipped his hands into his coat. He was quiet for a bit. Then, he said, "I must admit that... I'm curious. Where did you come from...? Clearly not from Port Faith."

She hesitated, considering whether she should answer honestly or not. "Ah... well, I..." she paused again, and then haltingly said, "I washed up here on the beach with him... We were on the same ship until these pirates threw us overboard."

Intrigued again, he prodded her with another question: "How did Beckett become interested in you in the first place?"

"Well, I... was a hostage of the pirates, so I knew exclusive information about them. He wanted to know," she explained.

"But he brought you on the ship with him?" he questioned.

Elizabeth nodded. "He thought that I would be more effective were I actually present by his side."

"I see," said Valor. Getting off the rail, he looked around, pausing, before saying, "I understand how difficult things must have been for you, and I only hope to see your circumstances improve. Feel free to make yourself comfortable here, Ms. Hall."

She nodded gratefully as he turned to leave. Then, she reached into her skirts and procured Beckett's book and her father's note. She sighed, giving each a glance. Remnants of her not-so-far past. A promise to avenge her father's death. A reminder of the bookworm she was before she had been whisked away into the world of piracy. She tucked them back into her dress, keeping them close to her again, and then surveyed the ship to pass time.

It was all so strange, really. The situation. Elizabeth could hardly believe what had happened to her in all this short time. Perhaps she really did feel sympathetic towards Beckett... but he deserved it! That smug bastard! After all that cheating and tricking, why, he _more_ than deserved everyone's hatred. It was justified. It was alright for Tia Dalma to hold a grudge. It was alright for her to manipulate an entire town. It was... it was only right.

Elizabeth told herself that she was glad Beckett was finally out of her life.

* * *

Beckett wandered the roads, occasionally adjusting his coat button, otherwise on the lookout for a specific building. He was looking because he had been turned down everywhere else. Fine, then! Captain Valor was not an option. Elizabeth had seemingly deserted him. Tia Dalma was out for his blood. Port Faith would kill him the moment they found out who he was. Then, at least, there was one other person to turn to on this miniscule, ridiculous island.

Circe. If anything, she could be considered Calypso's sister of sorts. She went by many names, but most knew her best by Maiara, the alias that she used most often. Unlike Calypso, she was neither fickle nor unpredictable.

Of course, it wasn't as though she was any less dangerous than Calypso. Rather than being fickle, Circe was deadly committed, and those who betrayed her iron trust were rewarded by her fearsome wrath.

Last he had checked, Beckett saw that she was here, in Port Faith. While it was true that it had been a while since they'd last met, time was insignificant to the magic goddess. Years to Beckett was only days to her. She would certainly still be here. And it was a good thing that he had been fair to her. She was likely to greet him kindly, if not with great hospitality.

Eventually, he found himself at the edge of Port Faith, opposite of the way he had entered. A small, run-down shack sat lodged between two palm trees, and a spicy scent surrounded it. He let in a full breath before he walked over to the doorway, which was covered only by hanging dried seaweed. There was no way to "knock," except by the seashell bell dangling by the doorway. Beckett reached forward and gave it a quick ring.

There was shuffling in the back before a wispy, but mature voice sounded out. "Come in."

Beckett nodded as he headed in, pushing the weeds out of the way as he entered. The inside of the shack was decorated with all sorts of shells and other marina life, dried and put into little containers. A strong smell of herbs and spices permeated the home, and several jars of weird concoctions sat here and there. A table sat in the center of the house, and sitting behind it was a woman.

He approached her gradually, and she smiled warmly as recognition filled her eyes. "Cutler Beckett," she said in a decidedly lower-class British accent.

"Ms. Maiara," he said lightly, inclining his head just a bit. She was the same as always. Ink black hair up in a loose bun, shocking blue eyes that seemed almost electrified, much like a lightning storm. Oddly pale skin. She was as human as the next person, but there was always something off about her. Perhaps, if it wasn't too rash to say, Beckett had known that she wasn't entirely normal from the start.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she said conversationally as she gestured to a chair, which he got seated on. "What brings you here to humble little Port Faith? It was only a short while ago that you came to me, asking about all those myths...no?"

Beckett pursed his lips. It had been years ago, actually, but he knew the way that the gods treated time. "I'm in need of your help, Ms. Maiara," he admitted.

Her brows rose as she leaned forward. A minty scent rolled off of her as she came closer. He didn't particularly mind it, but goodness, was it powerful! "Help?" she inquired, the word slipping off her lips like honey. "From me?"

"Of course. That's why I've come here," he responded, placing his hands upon his lap.

She grinned. "Then it must be something important if you have come all the way here just for it. Is it information that you desire?"

He gave an imperceptible shake of his head as Maiara began to pour him a cup of tea. "I have more than enough information already, I believe..." Pausing, he said, "No. What I am looking for is a way off of this island."

She looked up at him as she poured herself her own cup. "You must have come here somehow through a method. Can you not leave through the same way?"

"Marooned," Beckett said softly.

Her eyes widened just a slight as she lifted the teacup to her lips, taking a sip. Deciding to move on from the subject, she asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Indeed I did," replied Beckett, satisfaction creeping back into his tone. "I was able to locate Davy Jones, as well as his heart... but Jones is now dead, and his ship has gone down with him. Supposedly one of the crewmembers has taken over the task, and the _Dutchman_ shall haunt these waters no longer in the tyrannical way that it once had."

She nodded. "So that is over. What have you gotten yourself into this time, then?"

He smiled, snorting softly. "Jones was only one way I employed for this far grander task, Ms. Maiara."

"And what is this 'far grander task'?" she inquired curiously.

"The eradication of piracy, in and of itself," Beckett declared proudly, as though he took pride in just having the goal.

She blinked, taken aback. Gathering her wits again, she said, "You do know that's impossible."

His brows rose. "Nothing is out of reach, Ms. Maiara. Perhaps that is an ideal I once had before I knew of the existence of the immaterial, but now that I have been enlightened, I feel that even the most difficult of goals can be achieved."

"Even curses and goddesses cannot tear down the human spirit," Circe argued softly.

"You'll find that they can." He paused, letting himself take a quick sip from his cup of tea. "Through fear, one can attain civil obedience."

"You intend to rule like a tyrant?" she questioned.

He hesitated. Then, he shook his head the slightest. "No, not particularly." Beckett placed the cup back onto its saucer, finding the tea to be distastefully bitter. "Regardless. I intend to eradicate piracy as an organized crime. Starting by eliminating the Brethren Court."

Maiara smiled, settling back into her chair, the tense air gone from her. Now _this_ was a topic she could discuss. "I suppose that while you were on this task of yours, one of the Brethren attacked your fleet and marooned you onto this island?"

Pursing his lips, he gave her a look that answered her question "yes." Beckett reached forward and took a sugar cube, daintily dropping it into his teacup and stirring it with the spoon.

"Then you need a boat," she thought aloud. "Why didn't you go to that Valor boy?"

He gave her another stare, a more venomous one, but with a tired overtone.

Her lips curled into an amused smile. "Ah, I see..." she put a finger to her lips. "I am afraid that the only thing I can do for you is... direct you to a nice ship that you can commandeer."

Beckett's brows rose. "You intend for me to steal property like a lawless pirate?" he said, almost offended by the notion. "I think not."

Maiara chuckled. "It is in the name of justice. And you have done far worse things. Haven't you?"

He pursed his lips. "Within the law. Were I to steal a ship from here..."

"Port Faith is a lawless cesspool. Certainly not as bad as Tortuga, but bad nonetheless. I see no harm in you stealing from stealers," she interjected.

Sighing, Beckett grabbed for his teacup again and took a sip. "And how am I to commandeer a ship on my own?"

She grinned. "I have contacts."

He leaned forward onto the table, narrowing his eyes. "And just how many contacts do you have?"

* * *

A/N: RAAAAAAAWR! I'm so sorry that this chapter took _so_ long to write! Really, I am... ugh. I've been experiencing a lot of technical issues with my computer, to be honest. Anyway, that's all for now! Sorry this chapter is so bad, I've been having writer's block...


	14. Commandeer

A/N: Wow! I had such a blast reading all your reviews and seeing your opinions about Beckett commandeering a ship, hahaha. And I'm glad to see that I've managed to make Beckett a somewhat likeable character to those of you that hate his guts (lol!), even better to know that I did it while keeping him in character... Anyways, best of all thanks to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers: **ninjalover13**, **Mistress Beckett**, **Countcresent**, **Miss Cuttlefish**, and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**. Now, on with chapter fourteen!

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

Warnings: Nothing really. A bit of blood, the usual vulgar language.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Commandeer.**

Cutler Beckett let out a long, drawn-out breath as he headed through the darkened alleyway. Poor, homeless sops were strung about in the derelict street, all reeking with the signature smell of the unclean. He picked his way through them, making sure not to touch any one of them nor their ilk, and made it to the fresh air past the alleyway. Maiara, wearing a cloak with the hood up, came to his side.

They stood on a white-sanded shore, side-by-side. A pier was laid out before them, with a great many ships of all different sizes, from grand pirate vessels to humble fishers' boats. The clear blue Caribbean water rippled and danced, tossing around smoothed shells and pearly stones.

"This is the place?" Beckett inquired, looking out to the pier.

"Even a man as picky as you should find a ship he loves here," Maiara responded with a smart smile. "They are not royal navy ships, but they are just as hardy and might even handle better."

He sighed. "I'm beginning to find myself uncomfortable with this notion. I will be regarded as a pirate hereon."

She grinned. "I doubt one act of piracy can demean your entire career as Chairman of the Company."

"You'd be surprised with how easily credibility and integrity can be lost in the world of powers," he said softly. Then, in a more amplified voice, he said, "Regardless. As I said before, we cannot commandeer a ship alone... where are these other people of yours?"

"They are already at the pier, disguised as regular sailors. When we pick a ship to commandeer, they will follow," Maiara responded tautly as the two of them sauntered towards the pier. "I will recommend to you a fast vessel, but not too large. It's not as though we need to carry a lot of cargo."

"Of course," Beckett drawled. "Port Royal is only so far off." He looked left, right. But he saw no ship that took him in particular, although there was a very nice ship that looked like it was built for speed, and rather lightweight. He nodded his head towards that one, and Maiara smiled.

"The _Storm Wader_. But of course. I should have expected it," she said as the two of them approached the ship, looking it over. A bunch of sailors were preparing the ship for a voyage. Beckett put his hands behind his back, kneading his fingers together.

"Now what?" he muttered. "We stroll onto there and announce ourselves?"

Maiara laughed. "Even thieves have brains, Cutler."

"Lord Beckett," he corrected tersely.

She merely grinned at that, and then removed her hood. At this gesture, one of the sailors on the boat suddenly "fell" off the edge of the boat, hollering. The other sailors, panicking, quickly grabbed a rope and attempted to save him from a watery fate (assuming he didn't know how to swim).

Beckett looked at Maiara, confused. "And just what sort of staged act is this, Ms. Maiara?"

"One that works. Now go!" she said as she shoved him onto the plank. Stumbling, Beckett scrambled up the plank until he was on the deck. She hastily followed after him. "Now push them off," she whispered to him as she waved her hand in the air, calling the rest of her secret sailors to her aid.

"Push them _off_?" Beckett repeated incredulously, but there was no time to think nor argue. Exhaling loudly, he headed over to where the sailors were throwing around the rope and promptly gave one of them a good shove. The other sailors followed suite, bound together by the same rope. Beckett stepped over to the edge and looked down at them as they splashed around helplessly in the water.

"Damn you!" One of the sailors cried as he started flapping towards shore.

Beckett sighed. "My apologies," he mumbled under his breath, but it wasn't as though they could hear it. He turned and found a group of raggedy looking pirates—no, sorry, _sailors_—standing before him. Trying to suppress a grimace, he stepped over towards them and surveyed each one as they stood in a row.

"Well? You are not impressed?" said Maiara as she came over to him.

Beckett sniffed the air, scenting the familiar whiff of unbathed body odor. He cringed. "Perhaps I neglected to mention that I am difficult to impress."

Chuckling, Maiara turned to the sailors. "Don't mind him, he's just a little shy," she announced. "Now go and get working. If our passage to Port Royal is good enough, I might add something extra to your payment." She winked as the sailors dispersed, getting to work.

"Why aren't the other ships trying to stop us?" Beckett inquired as he leaned over the rail, gazing out at the other boats. "Is it not merely community service to stop criminal acts of piracy and commandeering?"

"Welcome to Port Faith," Maiara responded smartly.

"A lawless cesspool." Beckett said in a low voice. "I do hope we get to Port Royal soon. I would hate to stay with these cretins any longer than necessary."

* * *

Days had passed, and sailing had been smooth. A good wind sent them quickly towards Port Royal's direction, and Beckett was finally just beginning to feel satisfied once more. He was sitting quaintly on deck, sipping tea, when suddenly a group of sailors approached him. Arching his brows, he looked at them and said, "Yes?"

The angered sailor responded by knocking the teapot onto the table with a quick sweep of the hand. It shattered on the floorboards, and pieces of porcelain flew about as the hot tea sizzled on the wood.

Beckett sighed and put down his teacup. "You oughtn't waste things in such reckless manner."

"It doesn't matter. It's not ours," said one of the sailors in the front. "What _does_ matter is the way you have been treating us sailors."

"Oh?" Beckett inquired, brows lifting.

"Yeah," said another sailor. "I don't know who you are or where you're from, but what Maiara thinks of you must be totally wrong. All you do is sit here and loaf around while we work our arses off."

"Ah," Beckett responded, settling back into his chair. "So you've come here to file a complaint about my supposed lack of activity."

"... 'File a complaint'? 'Supposed lack of activity'? Just who in the hell do you think you are?" the sailor spat.

Beckett scoffed. "Someone who at least has a sense of common propriety," he said as he glowered at the blob of spit on the deck.

"We think you've been treating us unfairly," one sailor cut in. "You seem to be the rich type to me, but in this kind of society, every man carries his own weight. You're not doing your part."

"Do you really intend on scolding me?" Beckett responded, a smile playing his lips. Annoyed as he was, he still found the sailors' remarkable stupidity to be somewhat amusing.

"Oh, no," the sailor responded seriously. "We just wanted to let you know upfront why we're about to commit this mutiny."

The smile was instantly wiped off of Beckett's face, his eyes widening. "You're _mad_," he managed to hiss out. His eyes scanned each of the surrounding sailor's faces, searching for some sign of doubt or humor. There was none.

"Get him," the mutineer said as his comrades hoisted Beckett up off his chair.

"What are you doing?" Beckett heard Maiara yell as the sailors dragged him over to the edge. He struggled a bit, but he knew it was useless and didn't attempt to make a pathetic show of himself.

"Quick! Toss him over!" A mutineer exclaimed. "Before Maiara gets over here!"

They scrambled to throw him, but then Maiara, who had been cooking something, tossed a knife at them. The mutineer in the weapon's path ducked, and the blade slid over Beckett's stomach, slicing flesh and spilling blood. Beckett bit back a cry as he winced; fresh pain flared through him, and a crimson rose bloomed on his waistcoat.

"Cutler!" Maiara screamed just as the mutineers threw Beckett overboard.

Everything seemed to go slow-motion as his body fell towards the waves. "Bloody hell," he managed to hiss out, cringing. Then he hit the water with a _splash_, the sea enveloping him instantly. Agony washed through him as the salty ocean burned away at his wound. He felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears furiously as red blood flowed freely from his cut, his own heart pumping his precious life from his body. And then he lost the struggle to stay conscious.

* * *

"Worry not, Ms. Hall. We're nearly there," Captain Valor announced as he stepped up onto the deck.

Elizabeth smiled, nodding. "That's wonderful to hear," she said breathlessly. The trip had been excellent so far; the crew was friendly, Valor was so generous, and there was no Cutler Beckett around to order her about!

Leaning over the ship rail, she rested her elbows on it and propped up her head in her hands, staring out towards the sea, marveling at the gorgeous, fiery sunset that reflected off the calm waves. The ocean could be so romantically breathtaking, she thought to herself. She could see how men like Davy Jones had fallen in love with it.

But then an object floating on the sea caught her eye. It appeared to be a… piece of flotsam of some sort—that is, until she squinted and took a closer look.

Her throat locked and her body froze as she realized who it was: Cutler Beckett. Unconscious and pale. Possibly even dead, but she couldn't be sure from so far away. Though with Calypso being the goddess of the sea, and very vengeful, Elizabeth doubted that Beckett was still alive while floating so gently in the tranquil water. It was probably just a corpse that Calypso was sending to her as a gift and proof of his passing.

But there really was no way to be absolutely, positively sure. Unless…

"What is it, Ms. Hall? You look as though you've seen a ghost," Valor said, concerned, as he stepped over to Elizabeth.

She glanced at him momentarily to verify his presence before gesturing towards the flotsam. "Look!" she exclaimed.

Valor blinked and scrutinized the waves. Then, his eyes widened to saucers. "Bloody hell. Is that—?"

"Yes, it is!" she called out. "Quick! Bring him in!" But the moment those words left her lips, she flushed, turning a vivid shade of scarlet.

He looked at her incredulously. "Erm, I'm sorry, Ms. Hall. But did you just…?" His voice trailed off with his hesitance.

Her blush intensified as she snapped, "Just haul him in. I need to see if he's still alive."

Valor's brows scrunched together as he ordered his crew to bring the body in. Within moments, they hauled the probably-a-corpse up onto the deck.

Elizabeth raced over and knelt by him, then shook him furiously. "Beckett! Lord Cutler Beckett!" As the name exited her mouth, there was much murmuring among the crew. But Beckett did not move. She felt her heart skip a beat, and then quickly shook her head. _Why am I so worried? Why do I care? He's the enemy, for God's sake!_

"We ought'a just shoot him an' make sure he's dead," the midshipman suggested.

Elizabeth's venomous glare silenced him, though. Then Captain Valor came over, a bit apprehensive. "Ms. Hall, is this really wise?" he said in a low voice. "This _is_ Cutler Beckett, after all."

"I know who this is," Elizabeth hissed under her breath, indignant. Then, to the sailors, she said, "Take him to the brig." But then she blinked when she saw the blood all over his shirt. "Wait!" she yelled, and the crew, about to carry him, halted. They gazed at her as she managed to say, "He's injured. Take him to… my room."

Valor, astonished, turned his head to Elizabeth as his sailors carried Beckett away. Taking out his pipe and lighting the tobacco inside, he said, "I thought that, just a moment ago, you were more than fine with leaving him to die."

She stuttered a bit, and then admitted, "I don't know. I just…I suppose that _leaving_ him to die is a rather different thing from _watching_ him die."

Valor sighed. "I see…. Well, just don't tell me later that I'd not warned you. You may come to regret this decision in the future."

Elizabeth chewed her lip a bit, her eyes filled with a turmoil of thought. "It's too late now," she said. "At least I've saved a life rather than condemn it."

Cocking a brow, he said, "That may be so." Pausing, he added, "But keep in mind that the life you've saved is that of a murderer's. Granted, it is one with rather clean hands, but a killer nonetheless. A killer that utilizes capital punishment and termination by extreme prejudice rather than more personal means, such as cannonade and cutlass."

"He can change," Elizabeth countered adamantly, her drive suddenly coming back to her. "Just like everyone else can." Jack immediately sprung to mind. Of course, she had thought of him initially as some dirty pirate. And he genuinely _was_, at first. He was always so hesitant of saving anyone else's skin but his own. But she knew. Even if it took him a while, he came through in the end. And that was all that really mattered. He could change. If he, a filthy scallywag, could change, then what was stopping the proper British gentleman from changing?

The captain smirked, bemused. "Of all the years I'd worked for him, he'd never changed. Even when I met him now, after all that time, he hasn't changed. He's always been the same power-hungry bastard. What makes you think he'd change now?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "He's never tried to. No one else has ever tried to make him change. That's why it'll be different now." Getting up to her feet, she dusted off her dress and began to head towards her room. "I'm going to try. I'm going to change him for the better."

* * *

He woke up feeling crusty and disgusting, his stomach wound burning with unnatural pain. Groaning, Beckett sat up slowly, and just as his body began to right itself, a searing, ripping agony tore at his abdomen, forcing him back onto the bedsheets. His chest heaved with heavy, labored breathing as he pulled up the blankets on the bed—

…Wait… _bed_?

Beckett reached up to his brow and felt a damp towel on his head, cold against his flushed flesh. Eyes widening, he looked down at his stomach and saw that his waistcoat had been unbuttoned open. Fresh bandages were wrapped around the deep cut, stained bright red with his blood.

Furrowing his brows, he hastily scanned the room. Beckett felt the familiar, rhythmic rocking of a ship, so he deduced that he must be at sea. And he appeared to be in a bedroom, of sorts. A rather nice, tidy one as well. It couldn't be a pirate ship; it was too clean and well-maintained.

Finally, he settled back down, a bit more relaxed. A ship must have spotted his floating, bloody body, and hauled him out of the sea. That was it. He'd call himself some random crockpot name and find a way to get to Port Royal and regain his honorable position and title. Either that, or this was a British ship that had indeed recognized him as Lord Cutler Beckett. Those were the only two possible scenarios.

Just as Beckett was running these jolly conclusions through his mind, though, the doorknob turned and began to open. He quickly shut his eyes and attempted to appear asleep while whoever had just entered began to walk towards the bed.

Light, dainty footsteps that barely creaked the floorboards, Beckett observed. A woman's…..Wait—he knew that gait from somewhere….No! It couldn't be. It was impossible—

"Lord Beckett?" said none other than the very Elizabeth Swann.

* * *

"So where are we heading?" Jack asked cheerfully as he dumped another bottle of rum down his guzzle.

Amadi glanced at Teague before answering. "One of Jocard's bases in Tortuga."

Jack grinned. "Lovely! I _love_ Tortuga!"

"We aren't going there to buy you more rum, Jackie," Captain Teague scolded gruffly.

"Exactly!" Jack exclaimed, brightening up. "Why _buy_ rum when you can just pilfer from some unlucky sod?"

"We are supposed to lie low, no?" Amadi cut in irritably. "How is stealing being discreet?"

"Oh come on, mate. It's Tortuga! You're _supposed_ to steal! Now, _not_ committing any heinous crimes in Tortuga—_that's_ what you call stickin' out like a sore thumb. Pretty bloody sensical, don't y'think?" Jack said as he took another swig of rum.

Amadi sighed, shaking his head. "Idiot," he mumbled under his breath. Stalking over to the wheel, he began to navigate it with more care as the ship closed in on Tortuga.

Teague's eyes wandered over to the Tortuga port, and then he squinted. "Wait," he told Amadi in a rough, weary tone. "Don't go any closer to that port."

"Why not?" Amadi asked, trying not to sound snappy out of respect for Teague.

Teague motioned out towards the Tortuga pier. "Because the Company has taken Tortuga."

* * *

A/N: Lawl, my updates are taking sooo long now! I'm really, REALLY sorry. I'm on vacation right now, by the way—I'll be back around Wednesday or Thursday of this week. But don't worry guys, just because updates are getting slower doesn't mean I'll ditch this story. I promise I'll finish it! (Really!) So anyway, leave a review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	15. Peerage

**A/N:** Alright! I'm back from my vacation in New Jersey! Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers for sticking with me through all these chapters: **Mistress Beckett**, **ninjalover13**, **Countcresent**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, **S'mana**, and **Isen-norden-ss**. I love you all! And I am SOOOO sorry for the wait. But if it weren't for the two new reviewers, I probably would not even have updated. I promise to make the updates way faster now and hope that you're still reading this story!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

**Warnings:** The usual language. Little mention of blood. Beckett mudslinging from a certain character, too. xD

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Peerage.**

"Wot? Wot do y'mean, Tortuga's been taking by the Company?" Jack yelled as he raced over to the edge, staring out at the pier. A look of horror was plastered onto his face.

"Exactly as I said," Teague responded as he gazed out as well. "Looks like even Tortuga isn't safe anymore."

Amadi quickly turned the ship around. "We better get out of here. Or else they will kill us."

"Not arguin' with that," Jack mumbled.

Teague, troubled, said, "How about Port Faith?"

Shrugging, Amadi began to steer in that direction. "There are not many other places to go," he admitted, despairing.

Jack's lip curled as he gazed out at Tortuga, which was slowly shrinking with the distance. Taking off his cap, he gave a mournful bow as the last true pirate haven disappeared from sight.

* * *

"Sir. We've just searched all of Tortuga. Lord Beckett and Miss Swann are nowhere to be found," reported Gillette to Groves.

The Commodore sighed. "Keep looking. The Duke Bloodwoode has summoned him. We need the Lord Beckett as soon as possible to represent the Company in a business transaction."

"But what if he's dead? We could be searching for nothing," Gillette responded.

"Then even a body would be suitable," Groves answered. "And anyway, at the very least, this wasn't a total waste of effort. We've now captured Tortuga—a festering cesspool of inhumane piracy."

Gillette nodded. "Then what is our next course of action, sir?"

Groves thought for a bit, and then said, "We'll head to Port Royal. Perhaps, after all this time of our absence, the Lord Beckett began to head back there."

"Yes, sir," Gillette saluted and headed off to relay the orders.

* * *

Barbossa felt good.

Sitting on a bunch of barrels containing apples, he ate to his heart's content as Gibbs prowled around to make sure that the Company wasn't around, looking for them.

"Aye, it looks like they've retreated, Cap'n. If we're lucky, they won't check our prison cells 'til they're already off from Tortuga," said Gibbs as he settled down into the small storage building.

"Let's not be neglectin' their priorities," Barbossa pointed out nonchalantly as he bit down on another apple. "They'd best be looking for Jack or Beckett right now. Not us."

Gibbs nodded as he walked over to the rum barrel and opened it up forcefully. "Oh, look! Rum's fresh!"

Barbossa rolled his eyes. "Better be a thirsty man than a drunken idiot. This not be the time to drink."

"Why, you don't want some?" Gibbs inquired as he poured his canteen full.

"My liver be wrecked," Barbossa answered wryly. "Comes with me old age," he added with a sardonic chuckle.

Gibbs shrugged and started to drink. "Best be enjoying it while I still can, then."

* * *

Beckett dreaded it, but Elizabeth came closer nonetheless. His eyes closed, his body lax, and his breathing slow; all to appear perfectly asleep. She stepped by the bed, straightened out her skirts, and then took a seat on the edge, perched so that her back faced Beckett, concealing her face.

She sighed, and was quiet for a while. Then, Elizabeth lifted up her chin to stare straight ahead at the wall. "You murdered my father," she began softly, seething. "You killed an innocent man whose only desire was to save his daughter." Pausing, she took a deep shuddering breath and continued; "And you interrupted my wedding night with Will. To add to that, as if that wasn't enough, you sent Will after Jack, and _see_ where that got him?"

Then she was silent again.

After the long, pregnant pause, finally, she spoke once more. "You've taken away anyone I'd ever loved and cherished. But then..." Turning her head, Elizabeth gazed at Beckett. Her eyes were full of raw anger—yet so confused. "Then you saved my life." Her hand instantly went to the cut on her arm, which was already healing quickly. "Why?"

Beckett, still attempting to appear asleep, did not answer.

Exhaling, she slipped her shoes off and sprawled out onto the bed, legs still dangling over the edge. "Well, it's not as though you can answer," she muttered. Glancing at him, Elizabeth scrutinized his face and then almost smiled. They say that people look younger in their sleep; and Beckett was no exception. Without that constant bored look on his face, he seemed as blissfully peaceful as a child. She reached forward—and then stopped herself.

_What the bloody hell am I doing?_ She thought to herself incredulously. _About to caress his cheek? I must really be out of my mind!_ Shaking her head, Elizabeth got to her feet and left the room, shutting the door behind her with a soft and gentle click.

Beckett's eyelids fluttered open. He chewed nothing slowly (there was that nervous habit again) as he turned about in the bed, trying to get comfortable. But his wound gnawed at his stomach, and the idea that this was Ms. Swann's bed disturbed him greatly.

This, he decided, was a very poor situation.

Turning to his side, Beckett tried to act calm. But he couldn't. God, it was so... _weird_. He wanted to run out hollering like Bloody Mary, but his injury restricted his movement. So then what could he do?

Just lie here like a vulnerable, sitting duck?

No. No, no, no, _no_. He would _not_ be seen pathetic like this, least of all by _Ms. Swann_! This would not do.

But what could he do?

* * *

Elizabeth shut the door behind her and ran her fingers through her hair. Sighing a breath of defeat, her back hit the door and she slid down to the ground until she was on her butt. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she simply sat there and stared out into space, contemplative.

It was a while before someone noticed her.

"Ms. Hall?" said Captain Valor carefully as he approached her, concern flickering in his eyes.

She glanced up at him and then simply looked away. "I'm fine," she mumbled, but her voice was weak.

Valor shook his head and held out a hand. "You are not," he responded firmly. "Please, get up from the ground, Ms. Hall. It's demeaning."

Exhaling, Elizabeth took his hand and got to her feet. "I'm sorry, Captain Valor," she apologized faintly. "I simply am not feeling myself. Perhaps it might be this coastal heat, or the rocking of the ship..."

He nodded in understanding. "I see, then." He paused and then gazed at the door behind her. "How is... Lord Beckett, if I may ask?"

She froze for a moment, and then shook her head. "He's still unconscious. I've not spoken to him."

Valor hesitated. Then, he said, "Are you still sure about this, Ms. Hall? Where are you to sleep while he takes over your bed?"

"Well..." she answered slowly, "I suppose that I could simply wait until he gains consciousness..."

"But surely you need a place to rest while he is out," Valor insisted.

"Are you implying that there is another place to sleep?" she inquired.

He shuffled uncomfortably. "I'm afraid not, Ms. Hall. However, I could sacrifice my room to you, if you desire it."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I couldn't do that. Not after all the hospitality you have offered to me already." She straightened out her skirts, smoothing the creases. "I'll just go back to my room for the time being," she sighed and headed back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

She froze when she saw that Beckett was awake, sitting up, having propped himself against the dashboard.

"You're awake" she screeched, unable to keep the rage from her tone.

He flinched temporarily before responding tiredly, "Yes, I am."

"And here I was thinking that you were unconscious," Elizabeth snapped placidly. "Get out!" she snarled. "Get out of my bed!" Ignoring his facial protests, she grabbed him by the shoulders and began to drag him out from her bed. But when he audibly winced, she hesitated.

Small spatters of blood were growing on his side. She had reopened the wound in her brashness. Beckett's hand flew to his abdomen, weakly attempting to cover it.

"Oh! My goodness! I'm so sorry!" Elizabeth breathed instantly. She had completely forgotten about that cut in her irritation. Hastily, she tucked him back under the bedcovers. "Are you alright?"

"Not anymore, no," Beckett responded dryly, the strength returning to his voice, smoothing out the rough voice.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth apologized again. "I was acting rashly. I apologize."

He readjusted his position to feel more comfortable, but it did no good. His mind was dizzied and dull, and he felt rather disoriented no matter what he did. Exhaling, he asked, "Where is this, Ms. Swann?"

She bit her lower lip. "We're on Captain Valor's ship, my Lord. On the way to Port Royal." She didn't know why she was starting to use respectful terms, either... perhaps she felt sorry for him?

And then Beckett remembered. "Valor's ship, you say," he said softly. "Ms. Swann, were we not intended to leave together?"

She cringed. "Well, yes, but..."

"After I saved your life," he murmured, "you abandoned me at that island to die. Didn't you?"

"I..." her voice trailed off feebly. "I... I'm..."

Beckett sighed. "I suppose I was wrong to trust you, after all, Ms. Swann."

She shifted stiffly. "Well, I..." Shaking her head quickly, Elizabeth justified herself defensively, "I was angry at the time. My own fury clouded my judgment, I'll admit. But I'm not angry anymore. I know now that it was foolish of me to act that way before. Alright?"

He simply shot her an irritated glare.

"Um," she muttered, and then inquired, "If I may ask, my Lord, how exactly did you end up in the water with that wound?"

Beckett looked away, staring intently instead at the bare wooden walls. "Were it not for _your_ abandonment, Ms. Swann, I would not have even ended up this way, and we would both be on a healthy trip to Port Royal."

"Yes, I know," she hissed. "You've said it quite enough. Now tell me what happened."

"Well," he began, "since it was clear that you had betrayed me, I instead went to meet a friend of mine—Maiara, sister of Calypso. She then, err..." his voice trailed off. _No need to mention the commandeering part. A little lie won't hurt_, he thought to himself as he continued briskly, "She then, ah, assisted me in bargaining for a ship, after which the crew needlessly led a munity and threw me overboard."

" _Needlessly_' mutinied?" Elizabeth repeated mockingly, but with a lighthearted overtone. "I doubt they mutinied against you without reason. You must have done _something_ to annoy them."

"Oh? Such as what, if you would humor me, Ms. Swann?" Beckett responded in smoothly irritated tones.

"You tend to annoy people without meaning it, to be honest, my Lord," Elizabeth admitted jokingly, unable to suppress a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Beckett groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Ms. Swann," he said, exasperated, "at times, I really do doubt your upbringing."

She laughed. "My _upbringin_g? Well, if mine seems so bad, then what was _your_ upbringing like, Beckett?"

He didn't even bother correcting her lack of title usage this time. "Fine," he responded vaguely and a little too quickly.

"Come on, aren't _you_ the one who always appreciates specificity? Don't be so vague," she urged, grinning.

"If you really must know, then, Ms. Swann, I had a proper upbringing, just as I'm sure you did," he answered mildly. Then he seemed about done with speaking, but just as Elizabeth was about to open her lips, he continued in a gentle voice, "It was, of course, not of as a high class as yours."

Elizabeth found herself stopped goofing off for some reason, actually finding herself interested in his words as Beckett elaborated, "My father was a rude and impudent man, to be frank. He spent more time enjoying himself by frolicking with other women and bathing in the profit of his company rather than assisting in the recovery of his often sickly family members. Even as they lay dying upon their very own deathbeds..." Beckett's monologue died away after that statement, as if he no longer desired to speak. Then he shook his head slowly and muttered, "It's not important, Ms. Swann, my upbringing. The point is that regardless of my foolish family and the horrid example my father set, I myself became a peer of my own right—and a lord no less. And that, Ms. Swann, is why I am the _Lord_ Beckett."

Elizabeth blinked. Beckett's upper-class accent and seemingly rich mannerisms had always seemed to her as proof of his regal blood, yet now it was clear that there was no regal blood, no hereditary passage of peerage. Simply just peerage by one's own merit. And my, was it difficult to gain recognition without any blood priority.

Suddenly, the little Lord seemed so much larger now.

* * *

"Duke Bloodwoode, sir. We've received the reply from Commodore Groves," the messenger reported hastily.

The young adult—seemingly in his twenties, if not even younger—shuffled about in his chair. His blonde hair was tied into a small ponytail, as large as a shrimp. Chartreuse-azure eyes gazed at the letter before him, rolling across the text, taking in the information with relative quickness. Duke Bloodwoode was wearing an elaborate black frock coat with golden embroidered designs and mother-of-pearl button clasps. His waistcoat was a deep turquoise shade that stood out strongly against his white breeches. He lazily change positions as he slowly placed the letter down.

"Cutler Beckett is missing," he announced matter-of-factly to no one in particular. "So are Derrick Parker and Elizabeth Swann—the three most crucial members to that particular EITC fleet."

The messenger remained quiet, not sure as to whether he should speak or not.

Duke Bloodwoode continued without the messenger's response regardless. "That's troublesome, isn't it? At first, I'd thought it'd only be James Norrington to worry about... but now Cutler Beckett's gone off and disappeared with little Ms. Swann, hm? Could that be some kind of indication of an affection between them?" He mused aloud, and then chuckled lightly. "Well, not that it matters. Mr. Beckett might be rich, and a peer, but he isn't handsome, or particularly charismatic... I daresay I've still got a good run for Ms. Swann, haven't I?"

The messenger still did not respond, afraid to be reprimanded if he spoke out of turn.

"Are you even _listening_ to me, you damned dolt?" Duke Bloodwoode roared suddenly, shattering his image of composure, causing the messenger to jump.

"Y-yes, sir! I am! Sorry," he stuttered.

Calming down instantly, as quickly as he had been kindled, Bloodwoode smiled. "Good. Then I will arrange a meeting with Ms. Swann instantly upon her return. She _will_ be returning, of course. Even if the EITC does not find her."

_What is that supposed to mean?_ The messenger thought to himself incredulously.

And as if reading his mind, the duke clarified, "And by that, I mean that I will send out my own fleet to find her if I must."

"Yes, sir. Of course," the messenger said quickly.

"Good to see you understand," Bloodwoode said, pleased. "Keep me posted on the subject of Ms. Swann's whereabouts, if you would. And hopefully, if I'm lucky, Cutler Beckett will end up dead."

* * *

**A/N:** This... took... _forever_, despite being such a brief chapter. And truly, it really is all my fault that it's so late; no excuses are to be had. Huge thanks to all you reviewers, who keep me going no matter how down and demotivated I get. I've also started a new story called _**Almost**_, which, undoubtedly, is also getting in the way of this. But don't worry: _**Freedom and Justice**_ is still my main priority no matter what.

I'm starting to introduce in our new antagonist, the Duke Bloodwoode. I hope you'll like him, hahaha. And, plus, the Elizabeth/Beckett relationship is really starting to grow now—in this chapter, you can see her talking almost lightheartedly with him, and he seems to be opening up a bit... though that's probably because the blood loss is clouding his judgment. ;)

Also, I've finished reading _The Price of Freedom_ by AC Crispin, so you'll start seeing things from that being incorporated into this story. It's a really awesome book, by the way, especially for any of you Beckett fans out there, hohoho.

But in all seriousness, I wouldn't even be surprised if some of you just... stopped reading because of my writing pace. Again, I'm so sorry; I'll try to pick up the pace back to what it was when this story first began (that is, a new chapter every other day or so, muhahaha. School's almost out anyways).

One last thing—if you want this story to continue, please review! Even if it's only a sentence or two, it means a lot to me. And as you can see, the two recent reviewers are the only reason why I probably even put this chapter up before 2012. ;_;

Anyways, thanks so much for reading! I really love you all and you are all so great for reading this. (:


	16. Control

**A/N:** Okay! This chapter didn't take nearly as long, which means I'm getting better, eh? ;) So, huge thanks to all my reviewers, **Countcresent**, **Isen-norden-ss**, **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**, **Cupcakes and Tea**, and **RedFrost**! I'm really glad to have you all with me! I know I've been a slow updater, but really, all of you guys really put a smile on my face. I promise to make it all up to you! (:

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

**Warnings:** Nothing, a bit of language.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Control.**

Elizabeth woke up the next morning with a pillow stuffed in her face. She flinched and then realized that it was simply the pillow barricade that she had erected between her and Beckett the night before. Although he was relatively incapable of movement, she still didn't trust him enough to leave nothing between the two. She had put it up last night and had given him a proper warning, as well.

She was pleased to see that Beckett was still in the exact same position that she had left him in. His gossamer breathing was a sure sign that he was still sleeping. He didn't move a muscle as he slept.

Quietly, Elizabeth crept out of the room and walked out onto the deck. Captain Valor was gazing out towards a thin strip of land with a telescope, fast approaching.

"What's that, Captain? Port Royal?" she inquired curiously and anxiously.

"Yes, it is," he responded, grinning. "We've made it there much faster than I anticipated. I'll drop you and... err, Beckett, off at the pier. I myself can't be seen there, so I'll leave posthaste once the both of you are off."

She nodded. "Alright, then." Turning to him, Elizabeth said earnestly, "Thank you so much for all of your help, Captain Valor."

He took off his cap and mock-saluted. "'Tis no problem, Ms. Hall. Anything to help."

Smiling, Elizabeth headed back below deck to get Beckett. She stepped over by him and shook him lightly. "Beckett," she said, and then shook him harder. "Beckett!" she repeated.

He stirred and then his eyelids fluttered open. "Ms. Swann?" he murmured groggily, almost bewildered, and somewhat irritably.

"We're here at Port Royal," Elizabeth informed him, noting also his pleasantly surprised expression.

"Wonderful," he said, and started to sit up until he winced and fell back down.

Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head, and then helped him out. "Lean on me," she told him as she slung his arm over her shoulders.

"Ms. Swann, this is…" Beckett's voice trailed off.

"Shut up," she growled between grit teeth. "As soon as we get to Port royal, we can see a physician. Until then, you'll have to deal with leaning on me."

The two of them came clambering up onto the deck. The plank was lowered onto the port Royal docks as Elizabeth walked down slowly, Beckett dragging next to her weakly.

"Ms. Swann!" exclaimed Commodore Groves as he came running over. "Lord Beckett! You're injured!"

Beckett glanced up at Groves and managed to say, "Do escort Ms. Swann to my home, please, Commodore. And I myself would be most pleased if you could contact a physician to come meet me as soon as possible, while Parker escorts me to see Duke Bloodwoode."

"My Lord, there's only one problem with that…" Groves appeared nervous as he said, "Parker's gone missing. Him and Sparrow both were taken by Amadi and his crew. We also lost Barbossa and Gibbs, though we're not sure where."

Beckett simply stared at Groves, deathly and threateningly quiet. When he finally gathered enough self-control to speak again, his voice was noticeably shaking. "So you basically lost all of our prisoners. From _one_ group of _silly pirates_."

Groves visibly cringed. "Yes, my Lord. I'm very sorry…."

Beckett shut his eyes and tried to imagine a happy place. Happy place. Sparkling unicorns. Radiant rainbows. Happy place, happy place, _happy place…._

"You goddamned _nitwit_!" he yelled, raising his voice for the first time in a while. Groves's eyes widened in utter fear. "All those precarious years of planning and moving everything perfectly into place—_ruined_! And all before you clearly couldn't _handle_ holding onto Parker and the three _measly_ prisoners we happened to be keeping! And not only _that_, but you also _failed_ to search for both me _and_ Ms. Swann after the pirate raid, leading us to rot and _die_ at Port Faith of all godforsaken places!" He took several shuddering breaths before adding in a low, menacing voice, "Don't make me think that I made a dire error in choosing the next Commodore, Mr. Groves."

And with that remark, Elizabeth and Beckett headed for the Beckett manor.

Groves stood there, at a loss for words. He watched the ship that had dropped them off sail away into the distance, then his eyes flitted to the ocean waves.

Gillette came walking over, daring to inquire, "So, um, how did it go, Commodore?"

Groves swallowed. "I'll be lucky if I keep that title for long."

* * *

By the time they got to the Beckett manor, Elizabeth was exhausted. She collapsed onto the lounge couch and panted. Beckett himself settled down on the seat opposite of her, rubbing his hand over the reopened cut.

"We need to retrieve Sparrow and Parker. And Barbossa, too, eventually," Beckett muttered. "So unless Commodore Groves can prove himself useful again, I may just decide to promote someone _else_."

"Oh, please, Lord Beckett," Elizabeth begged softly. "He's only human. He simply just made one error. Give him another chance!"

"Why?" he responded acidly. "He failed," Beckett snapped miserably. "He doesn't _deserve_ a second chance. When in lead of other men, you must keep in mind that you may not make any _human_ mistakes!"

Elizabeth bit her lip, but then an idea came to her. "But Beckett, if you keep him, he'll be evermore grateful. He'll work even harder than any other new rookie could. He'd also be in your debt. He'd forever work to please you," she insisted.

He considered, then finally gave a sigh of defeat. "You're right, Ms. Swann," he admitted dully. "I suppose I'm too angry to see clearly."

She blinked, not expecting him to get in that easily. But then again, he was wounded and grumpy, and most likely didn't feel like arguing. Just as she was about to say something, there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it," she said as she got up, pacing over to the door, and opening it. "Hello?"

Standing there was a messenger. He smiled shyly at her, then said, "I'd like to see the Lord Beckett, please."

Beckett got up with a bit of a struggle, then walked over to the door. "I'm right here," he said in the best pleasant air he could manage in his miserable mood.

The messenger blinked and swallowed nervously. "Well, err, Lord Beckett, sir. The Duke Bloodwoode stated that he was willing to postpone his meeting with you in favor of your health, but would like to see Ms. Elizabeth Swann."

Elizabeth blinked. _Duke Bloodwoode? See me?_ She remembered him faintly from parties and banquets and other formal social gatherings, where they'd exchanged greetings stiffly, the way nobles always did. But she couldn't fathom why he'd request for her on such short notice—and only her, in such a personal fashion.

"Well, can he wait? 'Til tomorrow, that is," she ventured hesitantly, not wanting to try his patience.

The messenger nodded. "He stated that as long as it was within the next week, it would be acceptable."

Elizabeth smiled, pleased. "Well, then. Expect to see me tomorrow, if you could send a carriage to escort me at, say, noon."

"That would be acceptable," the messenger stated, bowing curtly and heading off.

Then she closed the door, turning back to Beckett, only to see him appear bored and disinterested. "Do you _know_ the Duke?" he inquired slightly curiously.

She shook her head. "No, not particularly… I can't say I know why he wishes to see me."

"You've never met before," Beckett questioned in the form of a statement.

"Well, we've exchanged greetings at formal banquets before… but he's never chatted with me, no," she replied. "I'm a bit apprehensive as to his intentions," she admitted. "What could he possibly want with me?"

"Perhaps he intends on courting you," Beckett replied mildly.

She blinked. The thought had never occurred to her, but now that she was thinking of it, she was a little repulsed. "We hardly know each other and he already intends on courting me?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned away in contempt.

"It was simply a suggestion, but I don't doubt it, really," he said smoothly. "Knowing the Duke, he's probably judged you on face value alone."

"But I'm a rowdy girl, constantly targeted by pirates," she argued. "Rumors are all spread about me secretly being a pirate at heart. Why would anyone want me?"

Beckett was silent for a moment. Then, softly, he murmured, "Perhaps it's because you're beautiful, Ms. Swann."

Her eyes widened. _A compliment? From Cutler Beckett?_ Bewildered, she immediately whipped around to face him, but he was looking down away from her, adjusting the button of his coat.

"We should head upstairs," he suggested. "The physician will be here any minute now."

* * *

"Hey, Parker!" a voice shouted as the cell door clicked open.

Derrick blinked, rubbing some of the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "Eh?"

"Amadi would like you to commence working on this ship," the sailor informed him.

Derrick didn't even bother veiling his annoyance. "Go back and tell Amadi or Sparrow or whoever that I'm not interested in becoming a _pirate_."

The sailor grabbed him roughly by the arm and tugged him from the cell. "You've no choice in the matter," he snarled. "We're about at Port Faith now, and we're running out of hands."

Derrick grunted and tore his arm from the pirate's grip. The two of them came clambering up the stairs onto the deck. He shielded his eyes from the blaring sunlight and glanced around. From afar, Port Faith could be seen in the distance. A ship was parked there, and he could hear a great rabble coming from it….

* * *

"You fools! Have you any idea who you'd thrown overboard?" Maiara snapped as she slapped another one of her sailors.

"N-no, ma'am," one of them stuttered. "He seemed a mighty lazy man to me, though, and you know what the Bible says about lazy men…."

"That was Lor…" Maiara cut herself off. She couldn't speak his name here; no, she'd have to say he was someone else. "That was… Oscar, my husband!"

A stark silence overtook the whole crew. Maiara stared at everyone of them, her eyes shining. "You are fired, all of you! Get lost!"

They quickly fled the vicinity as she turned towards an approaching ship. A pirate vessel, it seemed. A smile took her face. _This_ would be amusing.

* * *

Elizabeth climbed out from the soothing bath waters and began to dry herself down, searching for something suitable to wear.

_Dinner with Beckett tonight_, she mused to herself. _Just like before._

She decided on an elegant green velvet dress, another one that most certainly was not hers. Again, she wondered why Beckett had all these dresses, and where'd he'd gotten then from. By this point, it was quite clear that there was no Lady Beckett.

Which raised the question: Why? He was rich, quite past the age of marriage, and not so terrible0looking, either. She couldn't fathom as to why he hadn't wedded yet, or even tried courting a lady before.

Unless he wouldn't court a _woman_ because he was a h….

No, no. Not possible.

Elizabeth finished changing and looked over herself in the mirror. Perfect. She spun, letting her skirts spin. This period of rest was just so necessary. All that groggy dirt rubbed from her body….

She quickly began heading for the dining room. By then, Beckett should have finished his appointment with the physician. Cautiously, she approached the double doors and swung them open.

Beckett was sitting at the head of the table, waiting patiently for her. During the time that she had been preparing, he had as well. His wig was back on his head, and he was dressed in fresh, crisp clothes like before. "Ms. Swann," he said, gesturing at a seat by his side. "I've been waiting."

"Sorry. I was busy changing," she explained. Taking a seat, she added, "Did the physician mention anything of particular note?"

He shook his head. "No infection, surprisingly. He expects a hasty recovery… perhaps a few months. He warned me also to put a temporary hiatus on the mission while the wound is still fresh."

"And will you?" Elizabeth inquired. "Knowing your _workaholic_ mannerisms, I doubt you'll put a break in your conquest just so that your wound may heal safely."

Beckett pursed his lips, then hesitated. "I haven't decided yet," he responded honestly. "We're currently in a very poor situation, Ms. Swann. We're—"

"'_We'_?" Elizabeth interrupted with a sly smile. "I wasn't aware that I'm now part of your coup, Beckett."

"It's _Lord_ Beckett," he reminded her tersely. "And anyways, as I was saying, we've lost two of the Pirate Lords—Barbossa and Sparrow. Parker has also gone missing. We've been humiliated, as well, to say in the least." A pause , and then; "So, I'd not think it wise to strike again so quickly. Better to recuperate our forces so that we are stronger than before."

"I'm guessing that another failure won't be tolerated," she questioned with a statement.

"No, certainly not." Beckett shook his head. "As Chairperson of the Company, I hold certain obligations. That is, business first. Were I to invest too much in my own personal conquests to eradicate piracy without positive result, I am sure that riots and all other unsaintly sorts of public demonstrations will emerge."

Elizabeth nodded. "So we mustn't fail again."

"Precisely." He smirked a bit, slightly arrogantly. "I'm making a gamble, Ms. Swann. A gamble to erase the abhorrent pirates. I'll either eradicate them all or die trying. There is no other alternative."

* * *

That night, Beckett slowly ascended the staircase up to his office, carrying with him a lantern. In his other hand, he held the compass, following the way it pointed. His eyes carefully glanced upwards every so few paces so as not to bump into any obstructions. Then, the compass needle pointed out the balcony towards the sea. Beckett slowly lowered the instrument, gazing out at the oceans. The flickering candle-lights of Port Royal lit up the waves golden, gilding the sea-foam with a fiery hue. Seagulls settled down over the pier, their restless wings finally holding by their breasts. Horse-driven carriages lazily made their way through the streets as busy husbands returned home to their wives.

Beckett smiled softly, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. A snort escaped his nostrils as he placed the lantern down, resting his hands upon the rail, simply watching.

Perfect. Just perfect.

And all of this was _his_ now. Without Governor Swann, _he_ was in control. _He_ was the authority figure. Port Royal was _his_.

That is, until Ms. Swann wedded someone, after which the powers over Jamaica would be transferred to her husband.

…Which was annoying. Perhaps that was indeed the Duke Bloodwoode's plan. To wed her and then take the authority for himself.

But there was a way around that. Of _course_ there was. And it would all begin with bargaining with Ms. Swann. If he could somehow get her to sign a contract that would turn over her authority to him, that would be wonderful. And he was positive, almost positive, that Elizabeth didn't care for inheriting her father's duties and would pass it on to him without defiance.

That might look shady, though. Signing the powers from her. People would think it odd, too controlling. No, there must be an alternative. There must be another way to get those powers without looking too upfront—

_Oh._

Oh _my_.

* * *

**A/N:** This one didn't take as long, did it? Sorry that this chapter is a little boring, nothing really happened in it. So currently the state of affairs! Parker, Sparrow, and Teague are on Amadi's ship, headed for Port Faith to escape the reaches of the Company, where Maiara is also waiting. Groves is in some seriously deep trouble, because Beckett is pissed. Bloodwoode wants to meet up with Elizabeth, and all the while, Gibbs and Barbossa are hiding away in Tortuga, enjoying themselves….

Sheesh, there's just so much going on! But let's hope we can tie this all in together, huh? (;


	17. Bloodwoode

**A/N:** Wow! Thanks again to all my reviewers last chapter: **sea-salt kisses**, **Isen-norden-ss**, **Countcresent**, **RedFrost**, **[blank]**, **[blank]**, and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett**. Ugh, I keep taking forever for chapters... also for you two who submitted nameless reviews, care to put in a letter or two? xD It's hard to refer to you if you have no names, but I hate to bother if you don't want to do that.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

**Warnings:** Horrible attempt at Tia Dalma's accent, again.

* * *

**Chapter S****eventeen**

**Bloodwoode.**

The Duke Bloodwoode waited patiently at the head of the table, hands folded upon his lap. Today, he was dressed in his best frock coat, a deep ink mahogany with gold edges and buttons of Tahitian pearl. His breeches were a clean, crisp cream color, and his boots were lacquered brown, shiny and new.

His eyes scanned the table-spread meticulously, searching for even the slightest error. It had to be perfect, exceptionally _perfect_. His guest, after all, was the governor's daughter. And if his exploits were successful, he'd not only have a beautiful wife, but also all the powers of a governor. Influence in London, great wealth (which he undoubtedly already have, but you could never get enough), and authority in Port Royal, as well as all of Jamaica.

"Ms. Baker!" the Duke exclaimed suddenly. The maid came rushing over instantly.

"Yes, sir?" she inquired.

He gestured to the wine glass that was to be Ms. Swann's. "That glass, the gold foil on it is slightly chipped. Do replace that glass posthaste."

The maid nodded, snatching the glass and scurrying off. A few moments later, she returned with a perfect glass. Moments later, a messenger arrived. "She's here, sir," he informed the Duke, who smiled, pleased.

"Good," he said. "She's just on time. Do escort her in."

A few long seconds later, Elizabeth Swann walked into the dining room. The Duke Bloodwoode's brows rose just a slight, observing her closely. She, also, had dressed appropriately for this meeting. Her dress was crystal blue, like the color of Caribbean water, and her hair was pinned up in a swathing bun with pearl clips. Smiling shortly and pleasantly, she sat herself down as the Duke gestured her to.

"Good morning, Ms. Swann," he greeted her with a curt smile.

She simply glanced at him at first, but then couldn't help but look again. He was very good-looking, to be frank. It was a little difficult to ignore it. How had she not noticed it before? The corners of her lips tugged upwards as she responded politely, "Good morning, Duke."

He waved his hand to the food, which she had not yet touched. "Please. Help yourself," he said.

She nodded and began to eat daintily and mannerly. For the first few moments, there was an awkward silence between the two, with only the sound of silverware tinkering against fine china and slight chewing.

Then, the Duke spoke, snapping the fine tapestry of silence. "The last few days have been rather hectic for you, so I hear," he asked in the form of a statement.

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, certainly, they have. The Lord Beckett and I have been through much, and currently he is considering taking a break from his piracy eradication conquest."

Now _this_ was new information. But the Duke decided to leave it for now. He'd bring it up again later. At the moment, he just wanted to have a basic recap of what had conspired over the past few days. "According to word of mouth, apparently the two of you ended up stranded at Port Faith?" he inquired.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered, then bit her lip, wondering just how much she was supposed to say. Would Beckett be mad at her if she told the Duke the truth...? Should she lie? Damn it, she should have asked Beckett about it first! She decided to simply tell a modified truth. "The pirates took over our ship, and then they... well, after the Lord Beckett had defeated their captain, they threw us off their ship and we ended up on the island of Port Faith."

The Duke blinked. "The Lord Beckett _defeated_ their captain?" he questioned her incredulously. How in the world did that scrawny, midget man fell a _pirate captain_?

"Um. Yes, he did," Elizabeth replied. "Well, after that, the two of us embarked on a ship back here."

"Did you now," The Duke responded, vaguely amused. Nodding, he then returned to the conquest topic, having been satisfied by Ms. Swann's explanations. "So, you mentioned something about a conquest to eradicate piracy and that it's on a temporary hiatus?"

Elizabeth feigned surprise. "You haven't heard of it?" she inquired. "Why I would've thought that someone as influential as you would know."

_Trying to flatter me, Ms. Swann? You'll have to do better than that,_ the Duke thought to himself. "No, I haven't. Do explain, please."

"Well, the Lord Beckett had decided that piracy was an imminent danger and a severe crime of the highest caliber. So, as a result, he made it his quest to eradicate piracy as an organized crime by taking down the nine Pirate Lords—self-proclaimed 'pirate leaders' of the seas—then from there, eliminating all the pirates' strongholds, such as Tortuga and Shipwreck Cove," she explained.

"Ah. I see," said the Duke. _Workaholic_, he thought to himself with slight disgust. He never _did_ like Cutler Beckett. There was something about the man that bothered him. He was always trying to climb higher, get more... with him, there never was an end to it. There was never a moment where he allowed himself to relax and simply just relish in his riches. Plus, he was a _real_ suck-up if he thought it would benefit him. Even Lord Penwallow had fallen to his seemingly unconditional, charitable deeds, but the Duke Bloodwoode saw right through his act.

Elizabeth sipped her wine, stealing glances at the Duke. _What's he planning?_ She wondered to herself. He seemed to be staring emptily into space as he ate, but then he turned his attention back to her briskly as she said, "With all due respect, Duke... What were your intentions inviting me here on such short notice?"

He paused. In his haste, he never _had_ thought of a good reason for him to invite her like this. Then, after a moment's consideration, he responded, "Well, simply put, Ms. Swann, I was just _dying_ to know what had happened over the Lord Beckett's absence. However, I did not want to press him for details as he is now currently injured. So, I decided that since you were his companion through the trip, you should know what had happened. I assure you that it's nothing particularly personal." He smiled lightly, as if to soften the statement.

_Oh_, Elizabeth thought to herself, then reprimanded her own mind for thinking that he was trying to _court_ her when they hardly even knew each other! _Goodness, I was so silly, assuming that of the Duke. Of course he wouldn't be trying to court me. He just wanted to know what had happened and didn't want to disturb Beckett. How kind of him!_ She smiled back at the Duke. "Ah, I understand," she told him kindly.

_Easy_, the Duke thought to himself, suppressing a sneer. _Just a few sentences and already she begins to trust me!_ "Well, then," he said, checking the large grandfather clock installed in his dining room. "I do believe it's about time for me to attend another meeting. I'm sorry, but business is business. Perhaps we shall meet again, Ms. Swann." He got up from his seat.

"I look forward to it," she said, grinning, feeling so relieved that he wasn't trying to court her. With that, she left the room, in much better spirits than when she had entered.

* * *

"So what 'ave you observed of Ms. Turnuh?" quetioned Tia Dalma—no, Calypso—in her thick accent as she paced about in the bedroom, dressed in a fine English gown that most certainly, did not suit her. The Duke did not bother asking where she had gotten it from, but at least it would make her look less _conspicuous_ in the midst of his manor.

Bloodwoode relaxed back in the chair, calmly sipping his Earl Grey tea. "She seems to be rather attached to the Lord Beckett," he drawled in response, his lips curled into a bemused smile. "I do wonder what would happen if I were to harm either one of them."

Calypso chuckled softly. The Duke amused her greatly, with the way he just _loved_ to play with people. He was just so _fascinated_ by their reactions when you manipulated them. Although Calypso herself wasn't much of that kind of person, she had to admit she enjoyed watching the Duke play his gleeful games with whoever would tolerate his company—or wouldn't.

"Still," the Duke continued, "it is clear that the Lord Beckett must be... romantically attracted towards her. There is no other plausible reason for why he would invite her so graciously into his home and treat her with such hospitality."

Calypso nodded and sat herself in front of the Duke. She invited herself to a cup of tea and said, "She left out a few details, from what I've 'eard. She left wit'out 'im originally, leaving 'im behind to rot and die in Port Fait'. But d'en the circumstances changed, and they were together... again."

The Duke blinked. "So there were moments of doubt between them," he ventured.

The sea goddess smiled craftily. "I do not t'ink d'at Cutluh Beckett love 'er. I t'ink him be _using_ 'er to get powah," she explained. "But maybe... just maybe..." Calypso cooed softly, "d'ere is another kind of affection from Ms. Turnuh."

Bloodwoode blinked again, surprised, but then sneered. "I've always thought that Ms. Swann was easily affected by other men. She did seem to have a tendency to fall for any man crafty enough to walk past her. So for her to like the Lord Beckett, I see as reasonable. Whereas, the Lord Beckett not liking her in an affectionate, romantic fashion would actually be most appropriate. He is quite the loveless man."

Calypso dumped the tea down her throat rather than sipping it, which almost made the Duke cringe. Yet he maintained his composure as she rose to her feet. "So d'is is part of our deal, Bloodwoode," she announced. "I will help you take care uv Beckett, and you will get Ms. Turnuh's hand in marriage. As long as Beckett ends up dead, d'en I don't care what happens."

The Duke grinned. "Oh, I assure you, by the time I'm through with him, he'll _want_ to be dead."

* * *

"Ms. Swann," said Beckett as Elizabeth came strolling back into the manor. "How did your encounter with the Duke go?"

She smiled shortly. "Quite well, actually. He seemed to have good intentions. I'm sure that he hadn't meant to court me or do anything of the sort."

At this, Beckett paused. Had Bloodwoode coerced Elizabeth to believe otherwise about him? Had it been on his good looks alone? Was Ms. Swann really that _shallow_?

But despite his suspicions, his only answer was, "Ah."

He didn't press matters.

Beckett chewed on nothing absentmindedly as he jogged ideas through his head. He needed a method as to getting closer to Ms. Swann, but he didn't want to seem too straightforward, or else she would figure out his scheme. He certainly could also use a way of getting her away from that pesky Bloodwoode, who had apparently seduced her into thinking he was decent in just one short meeting.

A vacation, perhaps? Or... would that be too _obvious_?

Beckett cursed himself for not knowing better on the ways to skillfully befriend a _lady_. Other men, other _business_men, that was simple. But a _lady_ like Ms. Swann?

It embarrassed him to admit that he, frankly, had no experience and _no clue_ on what the bloody hell he was doing.

_God damn it,_ he thought to himself helplessly as Elizabeth scrutinized his face curiously.

"What... seems to be the matter, Beckett?" she inquired. "You look... troubled."

He blinked, glancing back at her. "Sorry," he apologized clumsily. "Lost in thought."

Elizabeth blinked several times. _That's rather unlike him._

"In any case," Beckett said quickly, changing the subject brusquely, "I was thinking a bit, Ms. Swann, and I came to the conclusion that it would be most beneficial for us to take a brief... break, from our duties, so to speak."

Elizabeth didn't even bother veiling her surprise. "Lord Cutler Beckett? Taking a _break_? Don't kid me."

He scoffed. "With my poor health due to succumbed injuries, it's only logical, Ms. Swann. What else am I to do for the time being? If the physician declares me unfit for work, then I am unfit for work. That's that. So for now, I thought it best to go on a brief, relaxing trip to London. No place like home, I daresay."

Elizabeth's reaction was to flinch in utter astonishment. "Wh-_what_? Has something gotten into you, Beckett?"

"It's _Lord_ Beckett," he corrected her tersely for the umpteenth time, brushing off her inquiry. He honestly didn't have a proper answer to it anyways. What was he supposed to say? _"We're going on a vacation so that you will like me, then marry me so that I can assume control over Port Royal"_?

Good luck with _that_!

"And how long will we stay at London? And what about the Company? Who will oversee your work while you're on break? And what of the missing people? Parker? The escaped prisoners? Sparrow and Barbossa?" Elizabeth asked question after question, berating Beckett with as many she could come up with.

_And don't forget Calypso's promise of killing me_, he thought to himself wearily, but didn't remind her. Some things, he decided, were better left unsaid.

"I'm putting Commodore Groves in charge of seeking out Parker and recapturing the pirates. This will be his time to prove himself to me. If, by the time we return, all of this is resolved, not only will the Commodore keep his post, he will also be heftily rewarded," Beckett explained. Then, he added, "In gold."

Elizabeth blinked.

"As for my work in the East India Trading Company, I will still be able to oversee affairs at my post in London," he added. "There. Is that sufficient enough for you, Ms. Swann?"

She smirked. "My, aren't _we_ hell-bent on going on this vacation? Is there something at London you really wish to see? Because I still am not buying your excuse of actually listening to what the physician told you."

_Perfect excuse! Thank you, Ms. Swann_, Becket thought as he visibly frowned. "A relative I would like to visit, that is all," he lied, making up the story on the spot. He'd figure out how to prove it later. For now, any answer would do.

Elizabeth blinked, then nodded. "I see. Then I suppose our... _vacation_ won't be a problem."

Beckett could hardly suppress a smile. _Good, good. Now all that remains is a way to figure out worming into little Ms. Swann's vain heart. Then all the authority shall be mine for the taking!_

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the short chapter and long wait... again, I'm... just... a horrible... person. But this time I have an excuse! The reason for the long wait was actually that I've just moved to New Jersey! We're just about settled in now, though, so I should update faster. I was going to add this chapter a few days ago, but then there was Hurricane Irene, and... bluh, just a bunch of things happened in too little time.

Please, please, _please_ review so I can know who's still actually reading, orz... I also have a few questions: One, are you extremely angry about the upload times? How often would you like for me to update (be reasonable xD)? And two, do you like when I respond to your reviews? And would you like me to? (Seeing as when I do, I often don't get any response. lol)


	18. Proof

**A/N:** Augh god, the length it took to put this up... months, _months_, I daresay it's been forgotten... to be honest, I was just about to shut this story down, too, but then a miracle happened.

The deleted scenes for the DMC and AWE turned up, and Beckett was... he was... well... _he was glorious_. I cannot even begin to describe how overjoyed I was when I saw Tom Hollander portray the little despot so perfectly. And so I've been more than rekindled, I'm going to start trying to aim for at least once every other week, if not more often.

Please review, even though I've been terrible... I really, really do love this story now, and all my inspiration is back...!

Thanks so much to all my wonderful reviewers, couldn't have made it thus far without you: Countcresent (thank you so much Count, you're my godsend), Lady Elizabeth Beckett, Chloe, A Ninny Mouse, LittleMissWesker, and alice.

Also, at the end of this chapter, I will be ranting in a fangirl-ish manner about how wonderful the deleted scenes were. Please ignore it if you don't want it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

**Warnings:** Nothing, surprisingly.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Proof.**

"_This_ is Port Faith?" Derrick inquired incredulously as they stepped off the ship into the mediocre town.

"A lawless place. Anarchist haven," Teague muttered as he surveyed the area. "Just be thankful that Beckett and his men haven't reached this place yet.

Amadi and his crew descended, with Jack following soon after, walking in that usual tipsy manner of his. Turning to Derrick, he said delightfully, "You know, you don't seem too bad t'me. Wot say you we go and hit the bar and get some wenches?"

"What the hell do you think you're asking, you mangy pirate?" Derrick snapped, recoiling. Turning to Amadi, he said quickly, "How long are we going to be here?"

Amadi rolled his eyes. "As long as you keep complaining, we could be here forever. So shut it."

Grumbling, Derrick folded his arms over his chest as Jack excitedly headed into town.

* * *

Meanwhile, from afar, Maiara watched with a smile on her face...

* * *

"How long has it been since you've last seen London, Ms. Swann?" Beckett inquired as the two of them stood side-by-side on the deck of the HMS _Constance_, looking out towards the sea. The waves around them bobbed and parted as the ship made its way through the ocean at a leisurely pace. Port Royal was far behind them by now, and with that, all of Beckett's worries.

(Or so he thought.)

She smiled and shrugged. "I left there when I was but a young girl. I haven't been back ever since." Then she blinked and her eyes got a distant look. "It was on that voyage that I met Will, too."

Beckett grew quiet. It wasn't his place to speak and he knew it.

She pointed out at sea. "It was exactly that direction from our vessel. There was a burning wreck of a merchant's ship, and the soldiers began to check it for survivors. Will was lucky. He had survived on a plank of wood. I caught eye of him first, and they dragged him onto the boat." A little grin turned the corners of her lip upwards as she recited her memory fondly. "He was wearing a medallion under his shirt. It looked like a pirate medallion... so I took it and hid it. I didn't want my father to think that the boy was a pirate." She laughed. "Back then, I didn't know that the medallion was pure Aztec gold, part of a cursed treasure chest. Even as I look back at it now after all I've been through, the experience seems almost otherworldly to me."

For a moment, Elizabeth was quiet, lost in the world of her memories, smiling blankly at the ocean. Beckett glanced at her inadvertently; there was just something so beautifully blissful about her expression...

And then she frowned. "But Will's not here... not anymore."

Beckett averted his gaze, turning his head away from her. He was loathe to admit that he felt no sympathy for Will Turner. He had never liked the boy. It sounded pathetic of him to even say that he had been... just a smidgen... just a tiny bit... a little... _jealous_... of Will.

But Elizabeth kept talking and talking, completely oblivious of Beckett's fretting. "And it was on that same voyage, too, that my mother passed away." She sighed. "It's really a pity. Maybe I would have grown up a tad less... _adventurous_ if I'd had a mother to look after me."

Then she blinked, finally realizing that Beckett was standing there. Turning to him, she said curiously, "You probably had a mother _and_ a father looking over you, didn't you? Which is why you're just so _stiff_."

"_Stiff_?" he repeated, annoyed. "What exactly, Ms. Swann, have I done to constitute as being described with the term '_stiff_'?"

She laughed. Her laugh was light, dainty, angelic, almost lovely—

_What are you thinking?_ Beckett thought to himself, horrified—

—"Oh, don't be silly, Beckett," Elizabeth responded. "You're the very definition of 'stiff.' The way you walk, and talk, and act. It's almost as though you've been programmed to act like a stick."

For a moment, he was too stunned to respond, but then he quickly regained his senses. "That," he said quickly, "is not true."

"It very well is," Elizabeth argued with a smile.

"No, it is not," he denied.

"You avoided my question about your mother," she said suddenly.

Beckett stared at her, and then looked out towards the sea. His voice lowered. "Now that is none of your business asking, Ms. Swann, and you know it."

Suddenly, all the lighthearted spirit in the air thudded to the ground, weighted heavy with tension. Just as Elizabeth was about to apologize, however, Beckett suddenly spoke again.

"My mother was a good, proper woman. Chaste... kind... rather religious, if I don't say so myself." He mumbled under his breath as he added, "But she failed to see her children correctly. She failed to see what they really wanted..." His voice trailed off as he was lost in thought. Then, regaining his voice, he finished breathily, "She became sickly when I was young. And then she died."

Elizabeth blinked, turning to stare at him. But he was turned away from her, looking in a different direction.

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

He breathed quietly for a moment, and then checked the sky. The sun was nigh set. "It's late," he said softly. "We ought to get some rest now." And with that, he promptly exited the deck, heading down into the hull.

Elizabeth stood there, frowning. She turned back to the sea again, watching the frothing waves glisten orange-red with the setting sun. "I wonder..." she murmured under her breath, but then quickly shook her head.

No, it must have been just a...

* * *

"We're here, milord."

Bloodwoode smiled. "Perfect," he purred, "just on time." Hopping out of the caravan, he dusted off his pristine clothing as he viewed the Beckett household. A large, nice mansion... though not nearly as nice as his, of course.

Chuckling lightly under his breath, he made his way up the steps to the front door, and knocked delicately.

It took an impatient moment before the door finally swung open. A disheveled maid stood in the doorway to regard him. He smiled charmingly. Her annoyed look immediately changed to a warm welcome.

"Oh, 'ello there, sir. Surely you've heard that Lord Beckett isn't home presently?" she told him.

Bloodwoode blinked, feigning surprise. "Is that so? Hmm, he did not inform me of this."

The maid felt sorry for him. Instantly, she added, "But, er, we could always have an... _alternative arrangement_... What brings you here?"

The Duke appeared pleased. "Ah, that would be most wonderful." He held out his hand. "My name is Duke Bloodwoode," he introduced himself, "and I am here on official business. I would like to leave this letter in his room, if you would not mind. Unfortunately, I will have to do it personally, as it is too important to be trusted with common folk, if you would excuse the derogatory phrase."

The maid blinked. "Oh, no, not at all, milord! Please, by all means, go right ahead." She stepped aside, staring at him. "Lord Beckett's office is just upstairs. It's the one by the library with the well-polished doorknobs. He's very meticulous about that."

Bloodwoode laughed. "Fitting."

He quickly headed up the stairs, ascending the staircase with peacock-like strides. Entering a hallway, he glanced about, studying the house.

_French doors, English decor, jade statues, Chinese porcelain, and some items from back when he was stationed in Nippon, I surmise. How very tasteless,_ he thought to himself, criticizing the furniture of the house as he slowly made his way to the office. _I've done my research well,_ he thought to himself proudly. _And there had better be that lacquered-black ebony desk in his office, or I'll be upset. I did go through quite a bit of trouble to get that morsel of information._

Bloodwoode strode past the library and reached a door with meticulously polished doorknobs. The knob was shiny enough that his reflection was practically crystalline in the metal. He chuckled under his breath.

"Oh, Cutler," he whispered delightfully, "ever so perfectionist. It's simply _delicious_."

He opened up the office door, careful to smear it with his skin oils. Just for spite.

Shutting the door behind him, Bloodwoode took a moment to observe the office. His eyes scanned the room—tall bookshelves filled from top to bottom with numerous volumes, both in Latin and English. More baubles from Nippon (_Blechh! Tasteless!_ thought the Duke). Other unnecessary treasures.

But what caught his attention most was a massive map of the world, painted onto his wall. Bloodwoode's brows rose as he saw it—it was painted _just_ in the way that the East India Trading Company had dominance over all the foreign powers. He smirked, exhaling a bit in delight. He knew Cutler Beckett like the back of his hand—all that stupid despot wanted was power, power, _power_. He would never understand the finer things in life—romance, drama, beauty, refinery. He liked to _pretend_ he did, but in the end, everything that Cutler Beckett did was just another attempt to be more _powerful_.

Bloodwoode couldn't help but scoff. How pitiful!

...But enough thinking, there was a task at hand. He stepped over to the desk and glanced about briskly to be sure that no one was watching.

Then, he dove into the drawers.

One notebook after another, he opened each up and closed it. It was mostly filled with trade ledgers, which he didn't care about. Nothing important, just more business nonsense, just the kinds of things he already had enough of. No, that wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was...

_YES!_

A smile took his features as he held up a small, worn leather book. His fingers ran over the spine and the cover, feeling every dimension of it—his one proof.

_This is it,_ the Duke thought to himself, barely able to contain excitement. _This is how I will make Cutler Beckett's life a living hell._

* * *

Somewhere under the sea, a primal force stirred.

The booming tremor of an organ made sound once again.

_The Flying Dutchman_ was not yet dead.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew, a lot of stuff happened here... I'm actually really tired, so I'll leave the excitement over the deleted scenes for another time.

Yet again, I apologize strongly for my lack of updating... I swear I'll try to be consistent now, now that I really, _really_ love Beckett more than ever. qq


	19. Secrets

**A/N:** Oh god oh god. I'm sorry. It's so hard to write in high school now. So much work to do… x~x; I don't promise quick updates anymore… I'm really sorry again. Homework is like ninety percent of my life now. :/

Thank you to all my reviewers who help me continue through tough times: **lenokiie, Countcresent, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, Juliette L'etoile, Coyote Soupus, **and **nosicaa.**

Big special thanks to **Countcresent** and **Lady Elizabeth Beckett** for sticking with this story from the start. I really appreciate it. c:

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean. Neither do I own the lovely characters presented herein. Except maybe any OFCs.

**Warnings:** Nothing.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Secrets.**

"Ca... Captain Turner, sir. We've reached the surface." The shark man lowered his hammerhead as a familiar figure passed by, the newly-"elected" captain running his fingers over the rail of his ship.

Captain Will Turner observed his wreck of a ship. It'd been through a lot, that was for sure, especially following the fight of Davy Jones.

His eyes narrowed as he inhaled, taking in the now-comforting scent of seawater. Turning to his right-hand man—Bootstrap Bill, his father, no other—he said quickly, "How long until we reach Port Royal?"

Bootstrap took out a spyglass, looking out towards the horizon. "Not much longer, Cap'n. Just a few more hours."

Will's brows rose. "Good," he exhaled. "I can't wait."

* * *

"So this is the Lord Beckett's '_secret_' journal, you say."

The judge was skeptical. That was understandable. But Bloodwoode was patient, ever-so-patient, even if it meant dealing with this idiot of a wigged man who couldn't quite understand what he was insinuating.

"Yes," he said as patiently as he could. "As you can see on the first page, his seal is on it. And if you flip through the pages there are many… ah… descriptions of rather _questionable_ dealings done."

"For example?" The judge rose his brows.

"For example," Bloodwoode began as he stood, hands crossed behind his back, pacing across the room. "Please flip to the halfway mark page, Your Honour."

The judge complied.

Names. Dates. Years. Notes.

"Notice, Your Honour, the names listed. How they are mysteriously similar to the list of men that died at sea under his command?"

"Well, perhaps the Lord Beckett is respecting his subordinates' deaths by writing them down…?"

Bloodwoode shook his head, sighing. "Your Honour. Please. Think for a moment, if you would. The notes by the names. They are reasons. Reasons why it would be advantageous for him to _kill_ them. Can you not see? _He_ caused their deaths. _He_ is a murderer, Your Honour. And I have significant testimony to prove that he killed Governor Swann, as well."

The judge blinked, now leaning forward in his seat. _Now_ he was intrigued. "Do tell, Duke."

Bloodwoode turned to the door, gesturing the guardsman to open it. They swung open, and in shuffled a British sailor of spindly stature.

The judge raised his head. "So, sailor…. What do you know about the death of Governor Swann…?"

* * *

_Knock, knock._

Elizabeth raised her head, dropping her pen. She abruptly shoved her notebook under the covers, then dashed over to the door, swinging it open.

Beckett was standing there, of course. Who else?

"What is it?" she asked.

"Erm," said Beckett, clearing his throat. He held up a book. "It occurred to me that you've had _My Lyfe Amonge the Pyrates_ for quite some time now, so I had the thought to bring this along."

Elizabeth blinked, holding her hand out and gently taking the book. "Um… thank you," she said hesitantly at first, and then looked it over.

_Romeo and Juliet._

She rose her brows. "_Really_, Lord Beckett? I didn't think that you were into romance."

He sighed. "It's Shakespeare, Ms. Swann," he asserted. "I've read all of his books."

"Really?" she smirked. "Prove it."

"If you insist," he snorted. A different expression suddenly took his face, oddly devoid of the constant stress.

"_Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck  
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,  
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,  
Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon  
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes."_

Beckett finished.

Elizabeth was impressed. "Well," she said. "Not bad, I suppose. Better than thinking about business ledgers all day, isn't it?"

He rolled his eyes. "Please, Ms. Swann. Let's not get into that, shall we?" Beckett turned his attention back to the book. "Now, I hope you do enjoy it. It's quite a tragedy."

"Seems like your kind of story," Elizabeth responded, putting her hands by her side. "A tragedy where love fails."

Beckett's brows rose. "Now _that_ is where you are wrong, Ms. Swann. Their love did not fail. It simply got them killed."

She laughed. "Even better."

He smirked. Paused. Then spoke again. "Well, we will be having supper in a few moments, so please anticipate it."

She nodded, then inquired, "Do you… know when we will get there? To London, I mean."

He hesitated, then knead his fingers together behind his back in the usual familiar motion. "I presume a few more days, Ms. Swann. I'm afraid you'll have to tolerate my company for a bit longer."

She let out a smile. "I get by," she said smoothly. "It's not so bad."

Beckett blinked.

"…Right," he said, restraining a stammer. "I'll see you at supper, then."

* * *

Jack always strode through the alleyways alone as though someone was watching him, even when no one was there. He had a pronounced step that seemed to brag with every movement, even if not a single soul would take note of him. This did not deter him, however, because Jack Sparrow believed that no matter where one is, they must act as thought the world were watching them.

In this case, however, someone _was_ watching him. Just one person. Not a world.

He whistled as he raised a bottle of rum, taking a brief swig from it. He had a characteristic sea-legged walk, with nigh inebriated sway in his rhythm. He was—

"Sparrow?"

Jack paused, then slowly turned on one heel, arms raised as if caught in the act of… something. He blinked, regarding the woman in front of him.

Maiara—or shall we say, Circe—smiled.

Jack immediately raised his brows, striding over. "Well, well, missy," he said smoothly, prepared to 'frolic' at sight. "What brings a pretty lil thing like you to ol' Jack Sparrow?"

She chuckled lightly, eyes narrowing a bit. Jack couldn't help but notice the sheer paleness of her skin… it was unnatural. Alien, almost, but not quite. It would almost be pretty if it weren't so ghastly, in a way.

Circe stepped closer, her hand sliding onto his chest. She circled around his shoulder. "Jack Sparrow," she murmured, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "The guardian of souls passed at sea would still like to collect his debt."

Sparrow's eyes widened. He inhaled sharply, then turned to Circe, almost shoving her off. "I have _no_ idea what you are talking about," he said, wagging a finger at her as he leaned backwards to regard her in a different angle. "But I'm sure that you might find the man you're looking for ov—"

She snatched him by the wrist, then turned his hand over, pulling up his sleeve. The tattoo of the sparrow showed clearly against his flesh. Circe ran a nail over it, then cooed, "You cannot run away, Jack. This time it is someone you know."

He stared, squinting. "Someone I know? Well, I do know an awful lot of people…."

Circe glanced at him. "His name is William Turner, Sparrow. And you owe him your soul on the _Dutchman_."

* * *

"This is preposterous," Count Ingleby exclaimed as he put down the sheet of parchment onto the desk. "It's absolute nonsense."

"I'm afraid it's true," said the judge who had, earlier, been with the Duke Bloodwoode.

"But this is Cutler Beckett we are talking of, here, Your Honour. I beg to differ. How are we to persecute the Chairman of the East India Trading Company? That would be like persecuting the Company itself. We need the Company!" Ingleby objected.

"Ingleby!" the judge exclaimed, exasperated. "Are you insinuating that we should turn a blind eye to political atrocities in favour of England's finances? I'm sure that someone else will be there to step up and take the chairman's place."

Ingleby sighed, rubbing his forehead. He considered for a moment, then exhaled loudly. "So what you are saying is that we ought to… to capture Cutler Beckett. And hang him. Is this correct?"

"Yes," said the judge, nodded profusely. "That is exactly what we should do. He deserves to be hanged, no less."

"Where is he right now?" Ingleby inquired reluctantly.

"Why, he's going on a brief trip to London, so I hear," the judge responded, perking up. "Send word to Earl Paxton immediately."

Ingleby nodded, in no place to resist. He stood. "Yes, I'll organize that as soon as possible, Your Honour. It won't be long before we see Cutler Beckett hanging at the gallows."

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you enjoyed this chapter, however brief. I hope it shows to you that I'm still alive, even though it is entirely my fault that this story updates rock bottom slow. Please read and review, if you care to anymore. Thank you everyone for your continued commitment.


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